


mark of a gentleman

by neroh



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Tilde, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Betrayal, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Espionage, First Time, Flashbacks, Frottage, Implied Poppy/Charlie, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mash-up of both Kingsman films, Non-Canonical Character Death, Older Man/Younger Man, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-12-20 21:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: Eggsy Unwin finds out that his mum is a super spy the same night she’s murdered in front of him.Aka the AU in which Michelle Unwin was a Kingsman agent that no one asked for, but I wrote it anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. We're doing this. For real this time! I got this all sorted out and it's happening. 
> 
> Thank you to Bre and Heather for the betaing and to Matt, Leah, Mo, Tresa, and the usual suspects for being amazing and supportive and listening to me whig about how I wasn't sure where this was going. Seriously, I have no idea what I would do without you!
> 
> Mix is located [here](https://8tracks.com/boldly/mark-of-a-gentleman).

Eggsy Unwin finds out that his mum is a super spy the same night she’s murdered in front of him.

Not that any of that makes a difference since he’s currently running the fastest he’s ever done in his life. But here he is; soaking wet and shivering as he finds his way through the streets of London. It’s the middle of winter and a nasty one at that. He barely had time to snatch his jacket before taking off with the medallion thumping against his chest.

_“Take this,” he remembers his mum saying as she breaks the chain when she tugs it from her own blood-splattered neck._

_Dean’s blood. His stepfather is dead now; a knife through his neck practically decapitated him right in front of Eggsy and his mum. The same sharp edge that cut into Eggsy’s arm during the initial melee, same arsehole who orders their cronies to break down the bedroom door._

_She looks like Lady Justice standing there holding the thin chain with the medallion dangling from it and a gun, locked and loaded, in her other hand. Like a bloody professional killer. “What?” Eggsy squawks._

_She shoves it into his hands before cupping both sides of his face. Michelle Unwin, sweet and gentle and kind; the best mum a lad could ask for and utterly unafraid as the door splinters behind them. “Go to Kingsman Tailors on Saville Row,” she tells him, kissing his forehead. “Oxfords, not brogues. Repeat it back to me!”_

_“But mum—” Eggsy tries to say, confused and terrified._

_“Oxfords, not brogues,” Michelle interrupts as her fingernails dig into his skin. The manicured tips turn red from his bleeding arm. She kisses his cheek and lingers for just a moment before shoving him towards the opened window over his bed. “Don’t forget, Eggs. They’ll help you.”_

_Eggsy scrambles towards it, the medallion’s circular edges pressing into his palm, and throws a leg over the frame. Raining hits the material of his trousers. “What about you?”_

_“Don’t worry about me, love,” she assures._

_Bullets pierce the door, firing through the wood and into the walls. One of them takes out David Beckham’s perfect smile while another shatters a picture frame._

_“Mum!” Eggsy shouts._

_“Go!” she shouts, pushing him forward as she’s stuck. Blood pools from a wound to her shoulder, dangerously close to her lungs. His mum turns grey in front of him but doesn’t spare the bullet hole another glance. Her fierce eyes_ — _the shape they share, though the color of his belongs to his father_ — _are locked with his. “Run!”_

_Another gunshot goes off. Instinctively, he shuts his eyes as the hot spray of liquid coats the side of his face and neck. Blood, he realizes as he blinks to find his mum dropping lifelessly to the floor, already dead and gone. A hoarse whimper tumbles from his lips while the rest of him is paralyzed by shock._

_He wonders, if he closes his eyes and counts, will this nightmare be gone?_

_Someone grabs his scruff, pulling him from the window and tossing Eggsy onto his bed._

_Laughter, so much of it, rings in his ears as hands hold him down where they aren’t fumbling with his belt._

_No matter how much he fights or screams, they continue laughing. They turn his head so he’s looking into his mum’s sightless blue eyes. “Bet you’re glad she ain’t here to see this,” one of them says before a sharp pain fills Eggsy’s body and—_

And now here he is, running for his life in the dark and rain.

His cap has gone somewhere, lost in the streets or perhaps it’s still back at the flat if the fire hasn’t already consumed it.

Eggsy had come to, by then, laying on his bed in a world of pain as smoke filled the room. Orange flames licked at the door frame, covering the walls and incinerating everything in its path. Coughing, he moved across the mattress and shattered the window pane with one quick kick before throwing himself through it.

It didn’t matter that shards of glass were cutting through his skin or that his trousers were down around his ankles. Or that there was nothing but trash bags and bins below. Eggsy fell into the rainy night, desperate not to lose the medallion as he dropped down two stories. His fingers clenched around it, protecting it as his body took the brunt of the fall.

After scrambling out of the rubbish, he had fastened it around his neck before dealing with the rest of himself. Like his belt, Eggsy was missing one of his trainers. It wasn’t like he had the time to look around for it and instead, pulled up his trousers before taking off.

It’s amazing what the human body can endure and still continue on. He runs through the cold and rain, avoiding the main roads and other people. Shadows have become his savior, offering him a safe haven from the ones who came for his mum.

God, his _mum_.

Thinking of her laying dead inside of the flat, slowly consumed by fire, is like a punch to Eggsy’s lungs. It runs him ragged, causing him to stumble into a wall. The rough brick scrapes his chin and knuckles, digging in as he sinks to the wet, dirty ground.

His throat convulses as he tries to breathe, tries not to hyperventilate, tries not to pass out in the middle of an alley in the dead of night. He wants to cry—he really does—but Eggsy isn’t sure his body could produce tears at this point. Not with his jacket sleeve completely saturated with his blood, which by the way, is fucking _rank_. The coppery sweet smell permeates even with the steady downpour of rain.

Eggsy’s run from Camden to who knows where he is now. He could be halfway to Brighton knowing his shit luck and the way his head and feet _hurt_. Scratch that, his entire body is a giant ball of pain. It’s so terrible that he thinks he may burst open if he moves. Glancing down at his arm, he’ll fairly certain it will need stitches. He idly thinks that he never knew that someone could bleed so much and still move.

Which he needs to keep doing. His mum ordered him to as she pushed Eggsy—her only child—into the night. A tearless cry escapes his lips because _fuck_ , what has his life become? Why hasn’t he woken up from this nightmare?

Groaning as his muscles scream their protest, Eggsy rises on shaky legs while using the wall for balance. The shadows conceal his limping steps as he peers out onto the road and squints through the rain to read the white sign at the corner.

 _Regent Street_ , it says when a car’s headlights flash upon it.

So he’s not arsed backward in the middle of London and it’s not too far from Saville Row. Perhaps a half kilometer or so. If only he had the proper address for the shop his mum spoke about rather than the only alternative, which will result in him wandering up and down the street like a deranged vagrant.

Knowing his luck, someone will be bound to call the coppers and Eggsy will be _fucked_. And possibly dead.

Those men who rampaged into the flat he shared with his mum and Dean were professionals—wearing all black right down to the masks covering their faces. They’ll most certainly be after him as well.

 _They’ll help you_ , his mum assured him right before…

 _Before._ He can’t think about it now.

Coppers and hitmen or whatever they are be damned. Eggsy sucks in a deep breath and begins running as he exhales. It curls into the cold air before disappearing behind him.

He runs, passing through empty streets and red stop signals. Runs through the rain and the cold and sound of a car backfiring several blocks away. Onto Conduit Street before making a sharp left onto Saville Row.

It’s empty, of course. The shops and restaurants shuttered for the evening and their lights off, save for street lamps and signs. It occurs to Eggsy that the tailors may be closed and his trek has been all for naught.

Except why would his mum send him this way? She must have had a reason; she always does.

The medallion hangs from his neck like a pendulum as Eggsy hurries down the middle of the cobblestone row. He reads every sign he comes across, blinking away the rain from his lashes by the millisecond. Blood trickles down his fingers, dropping to the asphalt where they leave a trail until the rain washes it away.

He spots a light coming from several shops down like it’s a bloody beckon in the dark. _A lighthouse,_ Eggsy muses as he jogs towards it, ignoring how his body shakes and his eyelids droop. To say he’s fucking knackered is an understatement if there ever was one.

Eggsy falls against the window, ignoring how his hands make a terrible banging sound and leave bloody prints on the slick glass. Looking up, he finds golden lettering at eye level. _Kingsman Tailors_ ; there’s more, but Eggsy doesn’t bother reading more. A hopeful cry falls from his lips as he staggers towards the door, pressing his thumb into the buzzer and leaving it there.

Moments pass like millennia, crawling as he waits in the rain, hoping that someone will come. Nothing; not even a night guard. The shop is quiet like the rest of the street, and all he can do is sob. Eggsy curls his hand into a fist and punches the door.

The rebound and vibrating glass are expected, but how it doesn’t break is not.

Strange, but so is everything nowadays.

“Think, you wanker!” Eggsy yells as his hand unconsciously jiggles the door’s handle. Looking down, he realizes he could pick the lock and barricade himself inside.

Anything to get out of the rain and cold.

He begins searching his pockets for anything that might help him. A safety pin, credit card, anything he put to use. Ryan and Jamal taught him when they were teenagers who thought they could be rebellious. It kind of worked, if one counts all the times Eggsy snuck out of his flat and met his mates at the end of the street to drink whatever Ryan got his hands on out of his parent’s liquor cabinet.

Looking back, he misses the time when life was simple. Before armed men burst into his family’s flat and upheaved Eggsy’s existence in front of his eyes.

His pockets yield nothing but a crumpled up gum wrapper and a tenner he had forgotten about held together by a paper clip.

Shivering and desperate, Eggsy squats down and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

Footsteps on hardwood floors push Eggsy towards the surface of consciousness.

His mum. The medallion. The tailor shop. Oxfords, not brogues.

 _They’ll help you._ One last promise before hell descended upon him.

Blearily, he blinks his eyes open, surprised to find himself slumped against an armchair inside of a very posh dressing room. The scent of cedar and expensive cologne fills his nostril, slowly pulling Eggsy back to the surface. Memories come back slowly after that, gaining momentum when he realizes there’s an alarm shrieking in his ears. He moves, regretting it immediately as his body sings in pain; everything hurts and he’s fucking _freezing_. The tailor shop’s warmth doesn’t help him nor his wet clothes in the slightest.

“What in the bloody hell?” a Scottish man shouts above the alarm as he storms into the main part of the shop. It could be his Edinburgh accent, but he sounds pissed.

Eggsy swallows and counts to three before hoisting himself up to his feet. His limbs shake from the effort and, honestly, he’s not very surprised. He’s been through the ringer tonight, not that he wants to dwell upon it. The only thing on his mind is facing the man outside and repeating the phrase his mum told him.

As he limps towards the door, the alarm stops. “Blasted thing,” the man grouses. His shoes click on the floor as he walks back into the main part of the shop. It sounds like he’s pacing, trying to figure out the cause of why the security system went off.

The man, whoever he is, mutters himself as he inspects the scene. Eggsy didn’t touch any of the neatly folded shirts and ties on his way inside, having been more concerned with hiding than fancy clothes.

“What the…” the man says aloud.

However, Eggsy can’t be sure that his arm didn’t drip blood onto the floor or cashier’s desk. Which is obviously the case as the man comes closer, faster until the dressing room door flies open and there’s a very tall, cross stranger standing in front of him, holding a gun. The dim light from the shop reflects off his bald head and illuminates the glasses on his face. “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“Oxfords, not brogues,” Eggsy bellows, digging his sodden pocket and pulling out the medallion for this man to see. He’s pretty sure that his blood has been smeared into it, but it doesn’t matter now. Either the man will help him or Eggsy will be toast. “Oxfords, not brogues! Oxfords, not brogues!”

Sheer exhaustion and blood loss slams into him, the force of it sending Eggsy toppling into the man. He pitches forward into bodily warmth under a pleasant cloud of cologne, possibly Earl Grey tea. It cradles him, reminding Eggsy of quiet nights at home as he forgets about the potential possibility of crashing onto the hardwood floors.

The stranger has caught him and carefully eases Eggsy down onto the floor outside the dressing room. “Ector!” the man shouts, panic thickening his brogue. “Holy shit…” He pulls off his jumper, bunching it under Eggsy’s head. “It’s going to be fine, lad,” he assures as he hastily undoes his tie, which ends up being turned into a tourniquet wrapped around Eggsy’s arm.

Hands brush over his face, noting his visible injuries as they gently move down towards his jaw until they pause above the steady thump of his pulse. “You’re okay,” the man tells him before turning away. “Ector! For fuck’s sake, I _need_ help up here!”

Someone might shout back; Eggsy isn’t certain. “Oxfords, not brogues,” he repeats, voice going soft as his body begins succumbing to the sensation of falling. The cold press of the medallion against his palm keeps him from giving in. He has to stay awake, has to hold it up for the stranger’s inspection, but keep his wits about him so it’s not taken away. “Mum told me…”

He feels like he’s being pulled under as his eyelids droop. Eggsy wants to fight it; he does. “Oxfords,” he slurs over more footsteps and voices. “Not brogues.”

Help charges onto the scene like the bloody cavalry. The whole thing is rather over-dramatic, but then again, Eggsy has broken into their shop and is currently bleeding out on their floor. They’re probably expecting a criminal in their colleague’s grip, not some injured kid.

What the fuck is his life?

A warm hand pushes wet hair from Eggsy’s forehead, like something his mum does when they’re talking in the kitchen as she cooks them supper. His mum’s skin is soft and perfumed, unlike the calloused fingers trying to soothe him.

“Shh,” the man assures over the sound of footsteps.

He repeats the phrase his mum told him, mouthing it as the lights of the shop grow fainter. Is he still talking, he wonders. Eggsy has no idea; he just wants to close his eyes and sleep.

“It’s alright. Everything will be alright, Eggsy.”

He wants to ask how this stranger because Eggsy is _absolutely fucking certain_ he’s never seen this bloke in his life, and trust, he _would_ remember him. The man was pointing a bloody gun at his face only minutes ago!

And somehow he knows his name.

There’s a disconnect between his brain and mouth, the words lost in transport as his vision tunnels into darkness. Sounds, mostly indiscernible voices shouting around him, begin to fade; his senses disappear one by one. Eggsy would ask him why, why did those men burst into his flat and disrupt his life, why did his mum have a gun, and most importantly, how did she know how to use it?

He really would, he wants to, except Eggsy continues his descent into oblivion until he knows no more.

 

* * *

 

“I thought I’d find you in here.”

When he lifts his eyes from the bed, Merlin finds Harry Hart standing in the doorway with a comforting grin. He smirks into his fingers, he thinks. The tug of his lips is so slight, so unnoticeable to his tired brain that he can’t be certain. He, then, shrugs.

Merlin definitely knows he shrugs; he feels the moving of his shoulders as they rise and then fall, taking his folded arms with them. He should probably stand up sooner or later before his lower back begins protesting at being seated for so long.

Not that the current state of his back matters much when Eggsy Unwin lies just an arm’s length away from him. He looks nothing like the occasional photograph his mum shared with Merlin. The ones that showed a clean-cut, happy lad with his father’s eyes and Michelle’s smile. Not the battered, ailing young man lying in one of their hospital beds.

“What are we looking at?” Harry inquires as he pulls up a seat, legs moaning against the tile floors of the Kingsman Medical Ward. It’s a momentary reprieve from the sounds of hospital equipment.

Merlin glances at him, searching his colleague and best friend’s face for any signs of… _fuck_ , he doesn’t even know what he’s searching for!

Turning back to Eggsy, he swallows. “Blood loss, exhaustion, dehydration,” he quietly rattles off. “Couple of bruised ribs, concussion, multiple contusions, signs of sexual assault.” Merlin pauses at the last bit and forgets to breathe. The moment Dr. Hanover informed him of it, approaching Merlin with hesitation before asking him to please follow him, bubbles to the forefront of his mind.

In a secluded corridor, Xavier relayed the information. For a man as dull as paint drying, it was rare to see a spark of any emotion, not to mention anger, in his eyes.

This isn’t just some stranger who broke into the right place, but the son of one of their own. It’s unconscionable to think that someone would violate another so, but it’s also the world they live in.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs, patting Merlin’s shoulder.

He nods. “And a fever. Xavier isn’t sure when he’ll come around, but he will,” Merlin says. “Eventually.”

“That’s promising,” his friend says. “Ector mentioned you were the one who found him.”

“Aye. We ought to think about upgrading the security in the shop; cheeky bugger picked the front lock and stumbled into dressing room three,” Merlin replies. “I followed the blood splatters he left on the floor and there he was.”

The image of Eggsy all but collapsing into his arms, chanting the phrase “oxfords, not brogues” over and over until it died on his tongue appears behind his eyelids whenever Merlin blinks. Soaked to the bone, lips tinged blue and teeth chattering, the boy was missing a shoe and his belt. His jacket sleeve had been slashed open, revealing a jagged wound that nearly went to the bone.

This winter’s temperatures haven’t been all that forgiving and to make matters worse, the poor boy wasn’t dressed for it.

And why should he have? Eggsy was probably relaxing in front of the telly with his parents before all hell broke loose, caught unawares and barely escaping with his life.

Merlin knew in those first horrible moments that Michelle Unwin, better known by her designation Igraine, was dead. A bloody shame; she had been one of his favorite agents despite her rough beginning with Kingsman. Formidable and never to be underestimated, Michelle was the very picture of a rose with thorns.

And now she was gone.

Percival and his newest charge, Lancelot, a young woman named Roxy Morton, confirmed it several hours ago. Michelle and her husband were dead, their bodies found amongst the wreckage of a burnt out flat in Camden.

A bloody shame indeed.

Merlin remembers their introduction to one another. He had gone to pay his respects to Lee, her first husband who had been a candidate for Lancelot. He was killed during the last task, a freak accident that still haunts Merlin seventeen years later.

Harry told him about how the young widow sent him out of her flat with a sharp rebuke (“She told me in no uncertain terms, to go fuck myself,” he had said) before slamming the door in his face.

Her spunk had piqued Merlin’s interest because, frankly, Kingsman needed more agents like that. He approached Michelle with something different.

Not pity, but something that would change her life. An opportunity, he had told her. The very same opportunity that Lee had sought for her and their son.

“How did I miss it?” he asks. “How the fuck did I miss it? _I_ was her mentor! The one who proposed her, the one who promised to keep her out of harm’s…”

He can’t even say it because he failed. He failed Michelle and her husband, Dean. And her son.

Harry sighs in understanding. “Come,” he urges. He pats his shoulder. “I have something in my office that might help.”

Merlin freezes in his seat. He can’t just _leave_ the boy, not when he’s in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers.

“Hamish,” Harry gently chides, using his given name. He’s already standing and reaching for Merlin’s elbow to pull him to his feet. “There’s nothing we can do for him now. Come along.”

Harry’s right; Merlin knows he is.

Eggsy needs rest and Merlin needs a place to vent his frustrations. Standing slowly, he figures now is as good of a time as any and follows, though not before sparing Eggsy a final glance.

So he goes, tailing after Harry through the corridors, stairs, and elevators of the Kingsman compound. At the end of their journey is an expensive bottle of scotch that Harry likes to pretend isn’t behind a set of first edition Thomas Hardy novels in his office.

Shutting the door behind them, he turns around to find Harry already uncorking the decanter and pouring its contents one glass, then another. Without asking, Merlin takes a seat on the couch and buries his face in his hands.

“None of us saw it coming,” he says, offering a glass to him. “It’s not your fault.”

He clears his throat as he stares at the amber liquid in his glass. “First Lee and now Michelle. Her son barely made it here with his life and…” Merlin sighs, sparing Harry a look. “ _This_ is a proper fuck up if there ever was one!” He downs the scotch in one go, wincing at the burn that lights up his throat. Of course, Harry would buy something that may as well be used for gasoline.

“We’re in the business of proper fuck ups and fixing them,” Harry reminds him, saying nothing as Merlin stands and goes to the decanter.

“Aye, but I should have never allowed Michelle to be assigned to the Valentine case,” Merlin states as he pours himself another drink. “Bad enough that the bastard’s dead and no one knows who did it. He was a dangerous man with considerable resources and there’s no telling what he found out.”

The recently deceased Richmond Valentine, a man with his fingers in every pot, protection better than most heads of state, many players in the many pockets of his gaudy jackets. The information Michelle was able to find was enough to foil his evil plans for mass murder, had he been able to do so.

Unfortunately for him (but fortunate enough for the rest of humanity), his body had been found in the living room of his LA mansion with more bullet holes than flesh. Whoever had done the deed was undoubtedly a result of Michelle breaching his security.

Someone found out her true identity, whether by hacking their way through the safeguards Kingsman took or by pure luck.

With her murder comes an entirely different angle of the case and as Merlin stands there with his drink, he hasn’t a clue how to piece it all together.

“Out with it,” Harry says, looking Merlin dead in the eye. “And no bullshit. You’ve got that look about you.”

Fuck Harry to hell and back; the man is both a blessing and an utter nuisance. “I’m worried about the boy,” Merlin replies, scowling over the rim of his glass. “We can’t let him loose.”

Something in Harry’s expression softens and all of his usual smugness is gone. “Of course we won’t,” he says. “Michelle sent him to us to keep him safe and that’s what we’ll do.”

Harry’s kind assures doesn’t help shake the image of Eggsy standing before him. Eyes opened or closed, he still sees it. “I’ve done a shit job of it so far,” he mumbles as Harry stands.

“We all know the risks,” Harry gently reminds him. He removes the glass from Merlin’s fingers and refills it before handing it back. “Michelle did, too.”

Huffing a sigh into his drink, Merlin shakes his head. What Harry says isn’t wrong, however much Merlin wishes it were. He wonders who will be the lucky few that make it to old age and retire, leaving this life of danger behind for the quiet of their golden years.

When he was a green lad of twenty, the very idea of being a Kingsman was exciting to him. The flashy gadgets, exotic locations, death-defying missions—it was better than what his parents had in store for Hamish ‘Merlin’ Greaves. Anything was. Now that he’s leaving his forties behind, Merlin wonders if he made the right choice. If he had known how many people he’d lose, would it be the same choice?

“You’re a maudlin twat when you drink,” Harry teases. He nudges Merlin’s side, grinning from ear to ear like the cheeky bastard he is. “Are you going to get wax poetic on me?”

“Shut up and let me wallow,” Merlin growls into his glass.

The rich sound of his friend’s laughter fills the room. It’s been a horrible day in a line of many, all of which he’s gotten through.

“You better drink up,” Harry tells him. “We have a meeting with Chester at half one.”

Merlin groans and then promptly swallows down the remaining scotch. “All to drink that terrible brandy in memory of an agent who had better taste than that,” he grumbles. “Michelle would hate it.”

“Yes, but Chester loves his traditions and one can’t teach old dogs new tricks, they say,” Harry reasons. He stares at Merlin over the rim of his glass, watching him carefully as if he was a mark. For all the years they have been friends, Harry frets over Merlin’s well-being more than his parents do. “Are you going to be alright?”

He shrugs his answer; he doesn’t want to lie to Harry, nor does he want to tell him that all he sees is Eggsy, shouting over the rain before collapsing into his arms. “Maybe? Eventually. I’m not sure anymore.”

“Well,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose at Merlin. “At least you’re still honest.”

 

* * *

 

Chester King only raises his brow when he and Harry come to the Round Table, not even offering a biting comment about the latter’s chronic lateness.

Why Harry insisted on another drink is beyond Merlin. He probably wanted to make sure he didn’t seclude himself inside of his office, or worse, Eggsy’s private room in the medical wing to mope.

“Shall we?” he asks once they are seated.

Glasses of that god awful brandy have been poured out, per the tradition, and stand in front of each chair. An unwashed arsehole probably tastes better than that abomination of alcohol, but Merlin dare not say it. Chester looks to the other agents who attend in person—Lancelot, Percival, Bors, and Kay—and motions them to put on their glasses.

At least this lot is more entertaining than those behind their lenses. A bunch of holograms of dull men in suits filling vacant seats with their dour image. And tinged green as Merlin has yet to perfect it; possibly the only color in their dreary lives of beige, black, and white.

“Gentlemen, I am thankful to say it’s been seventeen years since we last had occasion to use this decanter,” Chester begins, gesturing towards the brandy.

His flowery speech is utter crap. He disliked Michelle because she wasn’t one of them; first, she was a woman and Chester is an old-fashioned, sexist coot. Secondly, she was a woman without pedigree or a title, not to mention any traces of noble blood in her. To Chester, their appointed Arthur, Michelle Unwin was an outsider.

To the rest of them in the room, she was a star that shone brightly and beloved by those who called her their friend. Michelle dazzled them with her wit and charm. Intelligent, an eye for details, and resourceful - she had been many agents’ favorite.

Michelle took her duties seriously and balanced a dual life with ease. While most of their own lived in mew houses or estates, she preferred a safer section of Camden, where she purchased a two-bedroom flat and took the Tubes into work.

“To keep up appearances,” she told him once, blue eyes glittering in the afternoon sun. “I’m a secretary, remember? There is absolutely no way I could afford one of those fancy houses in Mayfair or Hyde Park, wherever you lot go at night!” She smiled, she always did when she teased, and let out a happy sigh as she dropped a lump of sugar into her tea. “Besides, it’s cozy and Eggsy’s already made friends.”

The son that defined her because above Kingsman duties and all else, Michelle was a mother. It most likely pissed Chester off something awful. He probably shoved the responsibility of raising his offspring onto an unsuspecting nanny or one of his wives, whereas Michelle was an active participant in her son’s upbringing.

She was the little sister Merlin never had and fuck, bugger, shit he is going to miss her.

“Igraine was an outstanding agent and she will be sorely missed,” Chester finally concludes. He reaches for his glass of brandy and raises it. “To Igraine.”

Everyone follows suit and brings the glass to their lips. As Merlin tilts it back, Harry leans in to whisper “bottom’s up” like the cheeky berk he is. Merlin can _hear_ the grin on his face and rolls his eyes before proceeding to down the blasted drink in one go.

Unsurprisingly, it tastes like utter shit.

Lancelot coughs next to him. Her cheeks turn bright pink as she makes a face.

“Galahad,” Chester calls. “I want you and Merlin to take point on this mess. Perhaps we can learn to better protect our agents with your findings.”

Harry nods. “Yes sir, thank you,” he says dutifully.

Clearing his throat, Merlin speaks up and goes to the topic weighing heavily on his mind. “What of the Unwin boy?”

“What about him?”

“He’ll need protective custody, Arthur,” Merlin points out. “It is our duty to provide it.”

Chester’s eyes darken. “The boy hasn’t requested it.”

“I believe when he came to us in the middle of the night, shouting ‘oxfords, not brogues,’ that it entailed a plea for help,” he counters, trying to remain calm. Though he’s usually good at hiding his temper, there are times where it slips and thickens his voice. This, most definitely, _will_ be one of those times. “Also seeing how he’s currently unconscious in our infirmary, Mr. Unwin is unable to make such a request. It’s only polite to do so on his behalf.”

Next to him, Harry’s fingers drum across his armrest and ready to reach over in case if Merlin should start shouting. The sound is oddly soothing and reassuring, knowing that Harry’s in his corner. Both of them always end up in a foul mood when they go against Chester, which thankfully doesn’t happen as often as it used to.

While Harry has carried on a long tradition of defying Chester when he’s being a stuffy, elitist wanker who loathes being humiliated, there are times that Merlin takes the mantel. And honestly, today has him on a short fuse.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room as Merlin and Chester engage in a staring contest. It’s truly a battle of wills and one Chester eventually relents on to save face.

“I suppose you’re right, Merlin,” Chester replies, contempt oozing out with every word. He shrugs carelessly as his fingers move the brandy glass off to the side. “But it seems that we’re all quite overbooked now that Kingsman is down an agent.”

He must frown because Chester’s expression changes as Merlin hears a gasp from one of the agents. His ire must be radiating from every pore of his body; he can already imagine how the rest of his day will go. Just thinking about it brings the beginnings of a headache.

“Then I propose myself to safeguard Mr. Unwin,” he says without hesitation because damn him for playing the martyr just this once. Or just to stick it to Chester and watch him flail like the arsehole he is. Merlin glances around the room, waiting for someone else to speak up before saying, “Until we are certain that the threats against his life are no longer an issue.”

Roxy disguises her chuckles as a cough and offers Merlin a knowing smile before both of them turn their attention back to the meeting. Chester, predictably, looks like his head will explode if there weren’t others in the room.

Clearing his throat, Chester forces a grin as he addresses him. “If you are certain it wouldn’t interfere with your duties.”

“I don’t see why it should,” Merlin replies with a shrug. “You and I both know that I have plenty of room in my home and besides, it’s been far too long since I’ve entertained.”

Harry chuckles into his brandy glass without bothering to hide it. He turns away from Chester’s menacing glare and bites his fist. Merlin presses his lips together because Harry’s amusement along with their boss’s anger is, well, _amusing_.

Chester looks thoroughly annoyed having been beaten at his own game; neither the first nor last time this will happen. At this point, Merlin wonders why he even bothers. “Very well. Once Dr. Hanover has decided that Mr. Unwin can leave the infirmary, he will be released into your care. For our next item…”

As Chester yammers on about god knows what, Harry leans in and whispers out the side of his mouth, “Don’t you think that taking the boy is a bit rash?”

“No,” Merlin whispers back. “Michelle was our friend and colleague; Eggsy is her son. It’s the least _I_ can do while we get to the bottom of this.”

“ _We_?” Harry exclaims as quietly as possible. “How did I get roped into this?”

Merlin nods at something Gawain says as if he’s really paying attention. “I am _your_ handler if you haven’t forgotten. Besides, you were fond of her as well.”

“Well, yes,” Harry quietly replies. “But I’d prefer if you’d consult with me before volunteering my services to a boy we’ve never met.”

He snorts. “Consider this me _telling_ you that your services are being volunteered,” Merlin states a bit too loudly. Everyone seated at the Round Table looks at him, much to his embarrassment, before returning their attention to Gawain. “Thank you, by the way,” he grumbles under his breath.

An annoyed sigh falls from Harry’s lips. “That’s not how this works, Hamish,” he mutters, leaning closer.

“For god’s sake,” Chester groans from the head of the table. He glares at them both like he’s a headmaster. “Is there _something_ you two wish to share with us?”

Merlin sinks into his seat, wishing the ground would swallow him whole as Harry raises his brandy glass and says, “There are quite lovely, Chester. Where on earth did you find them?” He doesn’t even need to look to know that the vein in the middle of Chester’s head is protruding and twitching because, well.

This is par for the course.

“Is it always like that?” Roxy asks him a while later. She and Merlin are squirreled away in his office and having their lunch in peace. She daintily blots her mouth with a napkin before elaborating. “Between you, Galahad, and Arthur, I mean.”

He nods while chewing on a rather tasty sandwich from the cafeteria and thinks he ought to send his compliments to the kitchen staff. “It’s gotten worse over the years,” Merlin admits. “But keep that between you and me. I’ll just deny if anyone asks.”

“I’ll admit, it was rather amusing to see the vein in Arthur’s forehead twitch,” Roxy giggles.

“Ah yes, it was. It’s a shame he didn’t have an aneurysm,” Merlin grouses. “Put us all out of our misery.”

The day Chester King drops dead will be the cause of celebration within the Kingsman organization and perhaps the Statesmen. He wonders if the Queen would grant the entire country a bank holiday for it, but decides it’s better not to ask if he wants to keep his job.

Roxy laughs into her salad. “I suspect there’s no love lost there.”

“None whatsoever,” Merlin tells her. He bites into the last of his sandwich and goes to wipe his fingers on a napkin while he chews. “Chester was never fond of Harry or I. We were too progressive, he said once or twice. Actually, quite a bit. Too unpredictable and had a pair of bleeding hearts. He was referring to Igraine because she didn’t meet his standards. Classiest twat.”

She smiles, which is infectious and Merlin finds himself doing the same. “Shame about Igraine, isn’t it?” Roxy asks, changing the subject. “I wish I had gotten to know her better.”

“I think you two would have a been a force of nature,” Merlin says softly. “She was one in a million, she was.”

“What will happen to her son?”

He shrugs because other than opening up his home to the lad, Merlin doesn’t know what will become of Eggsy Unwin. He recalls that he finished university not that long after a stint in the Royal Marines, though his field of study eludes Merlin.

He suspects Eggsy will require time to heal long after this is over. Merlin wonders if the lad will be like his mum and end up within their ranks or if he’ll return to whatever life he has waiting for him.

One thing’s for certain, he will never be the same after everything that’s happened.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. We’ll need to take it one day at a time.”

Roxy stuffs her fork through some chicken and greens. “I feel sorry for him,” she says quietly. “He’s lost everything and doesn’t even know it yet.”

“He is Igraine’s son,” Merlin counters with a grin. “I doubt that whatever befell him will keep Mr. Unwin out for long.”

“Are you thinking of submitting him as a candidate?” Roxy asks. She’s smart, that one, as she shrugs at the thought of Eggsy becoming one of them. “If he’s anything like his mum, I suppose nepotism wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Merlin pulls a face as he gives her a sideways frown. “Oi! Isn’t Percival your older brother?”

It’s true that many of their agents come from a long line of them. His grandfather was the previous quartermaster, though his code name was Archimedes, while Harry’s uncle was his predecessor who went into retirement after stepping on a landmine and blowing off his leg. With an organization like Kingsman, they like to keep to their own and take their recommendations in order to find people they can trust.

Seldom do outsiders make it into candidacy, but when they do, Merlin ends up rooting for them.

“As Harry likes to say, the world is changing and there’s a reason why aristocrats develop weak chins,” Merlin tells her with a grin. “He loves telling that to Arthur, especially when he’s being a snob.”

“Which seems to be most of the time,” Roxy adds with a sigh.

Merlin can’t help but agree with her. “Learn from his mistakes,” he offers by way of advice as he smiles at Roxy. “And make better choices than the rest of us.”

 

* * *

 

He isn’t surprised when there’s a knock on the door, nor when Harry pokes his head in.

There aren’t many places he’d be at this time of night; home, perhaps, like a normal chap his age, but Merlin can’t bring himself to summon one of the Kingsman cabs. Sometimes in his office, which is the first place most people look and interrupt his work.

Instead, Merlin has returned to sitting by Eggsy’s bedside while he types up an incident report from the night before. “I was wondering when I’d see the likes of you,” he says to Harry. “Shut the door if you don’t mind.”

“I _do_ mind,” Harry complains as he pushes at the door. There’s a softness to his tone that makes Merlin think he’s been worried about him since their meeting with Chester. Harry crosses the room and sits down in the empty chair next to him.

Together they stare at Eggsy. Some of his color has returned which Merlin supposes is a good sign, though not enough to quell his nerves. One of the nurses told him that the lad started whispering in his sleep; it’s neither coherent or useful; it’s something, at least.

“You know,” Harry starts. His voice breaks the silence of the room. “I was going to come in here and tell you to take your arse home.”

Merlin shrugs, not surprised. Harry has always been a mother hen. “And now?”

“Now,” his friend sighs, “I’m starting to think that I should order a cot for you.” He removes his glasses and scrubs a hand over his face. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, Harry turns to Merlin. “Do you need me to get anything from your place?”

“I have an extra bag of clothes here,” Merlin assures, gesturing towards a duffel bag with his civvies. “For R&D gone wrong, overnights, the usual.” He sets his tablet down on his lap, clicking the screen off. “Every time I allow my mind to wander, this horrible picture of him appears in my head.”

A funny thing for him to say when he’s seen many horrible things over the years. Bodies blown apart by explosives, limbs blistering in half from poisons and exposing everything right down to the bone, decapitated men and women waiting to be discovered. A person’s last breath, the blood draining from their veins as their skin turns grey. So many awful things that show Merlin how truly vile this world can be and the image of a boy screaming before collapsing into his arms is what haunts him the most.

“I keep thinking to myself that even after what happened to him, he came all the way over here,” Merlin intones. “He could barely stand and yet…”

Harry’s hand rests on his arm, patting it through his jumper. “The types of pain the human body can endure is both amazing and frightening.”

“But what about after he wakes up?” Merlin questions. “He’ll want to know what happened to his mum. What happened to him if he doesn’t remember.” He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head from side to side because it’s all he can do. “I don’t want to tell him, Harry. I don’t think I can do it.”

His friend’s hand moves to his back, where it rubs circles between his shoulders. “I can do it,” Harry softly offers. “When it’s appropriate.”

“I don’t recall our job being so hard.”

“It’s because we’ve grown older and wiser,” Harry tells him. “And in your case, _balder_.”

He lifts his head to scowl at him. “Oi! Not all of us have been blessed with the De Vere genes, fuck you very much!” He lets Harry laugh, mostly because he’s too damn tired to stop him and Merlin listens to him because it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

His eyes fall upon Eggsy, watching as his chest moves with each breath. Bruises form on his skin now that they’ve had time to settle, adding new chapters to the harrowing tale of his escape. As if the other injuries weren’t enough already.

All Merlin can think of is that Eggsy will be in a world of hurt once he opens his eyes and he wants to protect him from it. He barely knows the boy and what he does know are stories from his mum; secondhand information of how much Michelle loved him. She died protecting Eggsy from harm and with her death, passed the responsibility onto Merlin whether she meant to or not.

He moves closer to the bed. “We will find the people who did this to him, won’t we?” Merlin asks Harry.

“We’ll most certainly try,” Harry replies.

Merlin nods; it’s a good enough answer for him.

It has to be.


	2. Chapter 2

One day becomes two, two become three.

Each day blends into the next as Xavier reports incremental improvements in Eggsy’s condition. With his arms folded over his chest, Merlin takes the news and only nods in reply. What can he even say to any of it? Nothing really. It’s not his body nor his mind, and the people taking care of Eggsy as he heals must respect the pace of which he does it. If another day of rest is required, so be it. If the lad wakes up fully cognizant in several hours, fine.

Except he doesn’t. Eggsy comes to intermittently with his green eyes glazed over, mostly hidden by heavy eyelids. They wander aimlessly around the room, seeing, but never truly. Various nurses, even Dr. Hanover, have tried talking to him, calling Eggsy by name only to get an incoherent response before he slips back under.

“It’s probably for the best,” Xavier quietly tells Merlin at one point. It’s the evening of the second day, steadily creeping towards the third, and both men have just watched Eggsy flicker in and out of consciousness. “Given the trauma he’s experienced. He needs time to recuperate.”

Merlin doesn’t reply. Instead, he thinks of the feverish glint in Eggsy’s eyes and decides that when they find out who did this to him, Merlin will tear them apart on Michelle’s behalf.

For now, he has to wait. There isn’t anything else he can do.

 

* * *

 

Oblivion, as it turns out, is endless.

Not that Eggsy knows this, but it should go without saying. He doesn’t realize he’s cradled in its arms, resting, healing, waiting. Thoughts, emotions, and feelings stay far out of reach, sitting on the vestiges of consciousness.

Eggsy just drifts, cocooned in the warmth of darkness and having his mind just _stop_. It’s nothing like he’s ever experienced, to have his entire existence come to a halt. The long stretch of time Eggsy can’t keep track of because it simply isn’t there.

Just to hang in limbo, drifting, drifting, drifting…

Until it begins to filter back.

Slowly, like it’s _that_ kind of movie.

Slowly, just to annoy him.

His world consists of glimpses before it disappears; indiscernible sounds, blurry faces hovering above him, specks of light. They come in waves, pushing Eggsy towards the surface before dragging him down again. The brief spurts of conscious are too quick for Eggsy to piece together where he is or what’s happened.

And definitely not enough time for him to form the words to ask questions.

The first time Eggsy remembers waking, his body feels overly warm and impossibly heavy. Too heavy to keep his eyes open for long, to move his head, or to speak. Feverish, even. It comes quickly and leaves the same, thrusting him back into the darkness, where Eggsy impatiently waits. Then comes the next time, and the time after that, bringing new images with them. A sterile room of some sort that smells of a hospital, an older gentleman with bushy white brows and grey eyes, who Eggsy suspects belong to his caretaker, and an IV pole hanging above him.

 _Drugs,_ he muses deliriously. The proper word for them gnaws at the tip of his tongue and coming up with them is a struggle. _Hospital,_ he eventually decides. _Pain medication_ _._

That explains the sweet, glorious bliss immersing Eggsy in a muddled haze. Why waking up and staying there is significantly harder than he recalls. Why his mind feels bogged down. Why everything is so different—Eggsy _knows_ it is—and he can’t figure out why. He wonders where his mum and Dean are because it’s unlike them not to be here. Perhaps Eggsy’s missing them during the brief moments of consciousness he’s able to snatch and if that’s the case, he feels like a right arsehole.

As if things couldn’t get any weirder, there’s a man. Younger than the older chap, though definitely older than his mum. A bloke with eyes the color of moss smudged on wood, guileless in reflecting the worry in them. He’s always nearby, hovering over him and watching; Eggsy doesn’t know what for. He thinks he might be imagining him.

Something inside him breaks and everything cools down significantly.

And Eggsy remembers; he remembers sitting on the couch with Dean while his mum was in the kitchen. The scent of popcorn wafting through the flat, salty and mouthwatering. Dean asking Eggsy how his day went as he selected options on the Blu-ray home screen. The tea kettle whistling and his mum’s house slippers slapping on the floor.

Just another evening in the flat with his family; Dean and his mum would cuddle up together and Eggsy would pretend to act grossed out.

Then the loud crash of the front door being blown open, shaking everything on the walls. Faceless people spilling inside, swarming them. Dean yelling and throwing Eggsy to the carpet as a bright object flew across the room and sliced into the tender skin of his neck. Blood, so much blood. And _Dean_ , already dead before he landed next to Eggsy.

His mum. God, _his mum_. The whirlwind of her fighting off their assailants. His mum breaking the arm of one of them and using their gun to shoot their comrade. His mum emptying an entire magazine into an already dead body.

Blood on his mum, blood on the floors and walls, blood on himself.

The two of them, fighting side-by-side to get into one of the bedrooms. Barricading the door with everything they could.

 _Take this,_ she told him, breaking the chain around her neck as the arseholes on the other side try to break down the door. Her words sharp and insistent, pressing the medallion into his hands. It’s still warm from her body. _Go to Kingsman Tailors on Saville Row. Oxfords, not brogues. Repeat it back to me!_

His mum and her words, utterly fearless as she kisses his forehead. Fearless as she shoves him towards the window, fearless as a hail of bullets rain down upon them. Fearless as one of them kills her, forever defiant in the face of Death. So fucking fearless that Eggsy wonders if it was a dream.

It’s not. It’s not, it never is. Someone grabbing Eggsy and shoving him face down on his bed. Hands holding him down, pulling down his trousers. Hands spreading his arse cheeks apart, someone spitting on them, and oh god.

_Oh God!_

Eggsy launches himself upright, crying out at the sudden rush of memories and the stabbing pain from his midsection. He’s gasping for air, fighting to draw it in, to let it out. Anything to keep himself from suffocating.

“Easy,” says a woman’s soft voice. She’s touching his arm, the coolness of her skin sinking into his. “Easy, now. Breathe in deeply.”

He obeys, sucking in oxygen until his lungs ache from expanding. Until his nostrils burn and his eyes water. Where the _fuck_ is he?

“Breathe out,” she gently commands. “ _Slowly_.”

Eggsy does. A whimper rattles loose, weak and miserable, but at least he doesn’t feel like his head’s going to explode. He slumps backward, falling into impossibly soft pillows and keeps breathing. It becomes easier after a while because repetition tends to do that.

The woman’s hand never leaves his person as she stays by Eggsy’s side, even as another stranger joins them and injects something into the IV port. Whatever’s in there works quickly. Eggsy’s head rolls upon his shoulders and he’s falling. Someone—the woman, he guesses from the pleasant cloud of perfume wafting around him—eases him down to the mattress. In those moments he misses his mum and feels the burn of tears, but thankfully, he’s sleeping before any of them can fall.

When he wakes the next time she’s still sitting beside him, and Eggsy’s heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to leap out of his chest. He turns towards the sound of a magazine page being flipped to find a girl his age occupying a chair. She’s pretty, with honey-blonde hair pulled into a tasteful ponytail and warm brown eyes hidden behind glasses.

She must sense Eggsy watching her, as she glances up and smiles sweetly. “Hello,” she greets, setting the magazine onto her lap. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Eggsy rasps, offering her a weak grin. He swallows and winces at the sting radiating from his throat. “Water?”

“Of course,” she says, moving towards a fancy jug next to his bed. She fills a waxy paper cup before bringing it to him. The woman assists Eggsy in holding it, saying nothing as his hands shake when he tries to do so himself.

Slowly, the fog lifts and Eggsy can think clearly. He drains the entire cup before she takes it away.

“Better now?” the woman asks, looking genuinely relieved when Eggsy nods. She reaches for a call button hanging next to the IV pole and presses it. “Dr. Hanover will be pleased that you’re awake. Is there anything else I can get you, Eggsy?”

He blinks, confused. While Eggsy isn’t sure of a lot of things right now, he is _absolutely certain_ that he’s never seen this woman before. He likes to think his memory is aces and all, especially when it comes to fit blokes or birds. Not to be a typical twenty-something, but Eggsy _would_ remember a lovely, heart-faced face like hers.

“Um,” he rasps, embarrassed and knackered. “Who’re you?”

“Roxanne,” she says, extending her hand and they shake. “But call me Roxy.”

Eggsy wants to ask her where he is, but a knock at the door cuts him off at the pass. A man, the older chap he remembers from the moments of consciousness he was able to snatch, enters the room with a tablet in hand. He’s kindly looking with grey eyes framed by white eyebrows and a thatch of short-cropped hair, matching his lab coat. It’s clear he’s the doctor that Roxy mentioned.

“Ah,” the doctor says in a Welsh lilt. Roxy excuses herself, shutting the door behind her. “Mr. Unwin, we are properly introduced; I am Dr. Hanover. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” Eggsy intones. It’s true; he feels like one giant bruise. Or punching bag. There isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t throb, which he reckons would be far worse without pain medication.

Dr. Hanover nods while his fingers type on the tablet screen. “That is to be expected.” He comes to the bed and sets the device down on the bedside table. Reaching into his pocket, Hanover pulls out a stethoscope. “Do you mind if I...?”

Eggsy nods and scoots forward, giving the doctor berth to examine him. Closing his eyes, he tries to pretend that his skin isn’t crawling or his heart isn’t speeding up in panic. He complies with each gentle command and tries not to think of the faceless men who…

He squeezes his eyes tighter, unable to muster the embarrassment at a teardrop landing on the blankets with a dull thud.

“Thank you,” Hanover says, stepping back from the bed. Eggsy refuses to meet his stare. “You may lie back if you wish to do so.”

He does and he does so. “Where am I?” he asks, finally opening his eyes. They burn less than before.

“Technically Hertfordshire,” the doctor answers as he types Eggsy’s vitals into the tablet. “Under several kilometers of earth and mortar; we’ve always been the flashy sort.”

Eggsy raises a questioning brow. “Hertfordshire? I thought…I went to Saville Row; that’s the last thing I remember. A tailor’s shop. I picked the lock.”

He remembers the rain and the cold and the hopelessness of finding the shop closed. The blood dripping down his arm, his fingertips, onto the paper clip he used to pick the lock and everything he touched. Stumbling inside of an empty dressing room and thinking he only needs a moment to close his eyes. Just to regain his strength because he’s knackered and his body hurts. The shrill screaming of the alarm fades until it’s back again and footsteps creak on the floorboards.

His heart in his throat as a man throws open the door to the dressing room, a shadow demanding to know who Eggsy is. The sound of his own voice shouting _oxfords, not brogues_ because it’s the only thing he knows before falling into this man’s arms.

And keeps falling until he remembers no more. Until he wakes up in a bed surrounded by strangers.

Eggsy glances down at his own appearance, noting the flimsy hospital gown he’s wearing and the gauze wound up his arm. He touches it gingerly, wincing as pain radiates from the gash underneath. “Did I make it to Kingsman?” he asks, his panic surging through his body.

An alarm goes off and is quickly stopped by Dr. Hanover. He looks at Eggsy, eyes filled with kindness as he answers. “Yes, son,” he tells him with a comforting smile. “You made it.”

Relief floods Eggsy and rattles through his body until a whimper comes loose. It falls from his parted lips so softly that it disappears into the atmosphere as if it never happened.

All of the horrors of that night and Eggsy still managed to make it to the people who his mum said would help him.

Scrubbing a hand over his face and feeling the stubble against his palm, he swallows back another sob and another. Swollen tears roll down his cheeks and disappear under his trembling jaw. He doesn’t care if a virtual stranger watches him cry because, frankly, he’s too knackered to give a shit. It’s just as well since Dr. Hanover does and says nothing that would make Eggsy feel embarrassed. He goes about his business, writing down the latest readouts from the machines surrounding the bed and clucking about his patient.

“How long have I been here?” Eggsy asks after a long while when he thinks he can speak without his voice breaking.

The other man is busy placing a protective cap on one of those thermometers one stick into their ear. He motions for Eggsy to tilt his head and gently slides it into place. “Five days,” Hanover replies as they wait for the results. It beeps after a few moments and Hanover makes a decidedly pleased sound. “Your fever’s finally going down.”

He blinks at the other man, feeling lost. So hopelessly lost. “What?”

“You came to us in fairly bad shape, young man,” Hanover gently tells him as he deposes of the cap. He reaches for the tablet and begins drumming his fingers on the screen. “Thank goodness Merlin found you and had enough sense to ruin his tie. Shame, though. Zegnas are quite lovely.”

Eggsy raises a brow. “ _Zegnas_?” he questions. “Merlin? You mean the wizard from _The Sword in the Stone_?”

Hanover’s rich laughter fills the room; he’s clearly amused and not trying to slight Eggsy, even though his cheeks blush furiously. “Goodness, no. Merlin is one of my colleagues _and_ the one who found you. Do you remember?”

He does remember, of course, he does. He remembers how the anger on the man’s face melted as Eggsy showed him the medallion. The way his eyes went from narrowed to widened when he saw the blood. The scent of cologne, Earl Grey tea, and wool under his nose when Eggsy’s body finally gave out.

The muffled Scottish lilt, growing fainter as Eggsy drifted further away from consciousness. _You’re okay. It’s alright. Everything will be all right, Eggsy._

“You mean the tall, bald bloke with glasses?” Eggsy replies. He balls the sheets with his fists. “And how do you lot know who I am?”

His mum never mentioned any of these folks and he’s certain of that. She had worked as a legal secretary to some higher up at a law firm that she hardly ever spoke about. Then again, she was pretty tight-lipped when it came to her job, almost to the point of obsession.

Closing his eyes, he pictures her precise movements and improvisation with household objects against their assailants, or how she turned their own weapons and people against them, which was fucking wicked. She didn’t cower in the corner or bat an eye when Dean fell. Bottom line: his mum knew what to do.

With all the odds stacked against them, she forged on until meeting her own end.

“My mum…she wasn’t,” Eggsy begins to say. The words taper off to silence as the realization of who Michelle Unwin truly was slams into him, and it definitely wasn’t a legal secretary. Tears sting his eyes as Eggsy looks to Dr. Hanover for confirmation. “ _Where_ am I?”

Concern tightens the doctor’s face as he pressed the tablet to his chest. “Perhaps,” he sighs, “it would be best if you spoke with Merlin or Galahad.”

“What are we in? King Arthur’s court?” Eggsy grouses, even more confused. “And who the hell is _Galahad_?”

“I am,” announces a voice from the doorway. He finds a tall, posh looking bloke in an equally posh looking suit with his jacket draped over one wrist and an umbrella in his hand. He nods at Dr. Hanover as he enters the room like he’s a hero straight out of a Golden Age film, setting down his belongings at the end of Eggsy’s hospital bed. “You are in the subterranean medical ward of Kingsman HQ, just outside London. Hertfordshire, actually.”

Eggsy narrows his eyes and immediately dislikes him. “Who are you _really_? Because I know Galahad ain’t your fucking name, and what the fuck is Kingsman? Are you lot Interpol? MI6? SIS? Whatever the fuck they’re calling it!”

“Sorry, Eggsy,” this Galahad character replies, not even hiding his unapologetic tone. “That’s classified.”

“That ain’t an answer,” Eggsy retorts, watching him carefully. He wonders if he’s still dreaming or if this is some fucked up version of the afterlife.

Galahad raises a brow, unimpressed by his charge’s attitude. “A little gratitude would be nice,” he says after a while. “My name is Harry Hart, and I knew your mother quite well.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe because she _never_ mentioned _you_ ,” he snaps, unable to hide the contempt from his tone. Eggsy folds his arms over his chest, ignoring how his ribs ache or that the hand with the IV line tethered to it pulls.

Harry, Galahad, whatever-his-name tilts his head in that way people do when they are observing someone like they’re a curiosity. “She wasn’t allowed to.”

“But I am her _son_!” Eggsy shouts. He lunges forward to attack, not expecting his entire abdomen to flare up in excruciating pain. He cries out, falling back into Dr. Hanover’s waiting arms and lets the old man ease him down into the pillows.

The agony robs Eggsy of his voice because he’s too damn busy trying to remember to breathe. Hanover fiddles with something out of his peripheral before an icy rush fills his arm. It dulls the pain to an ache and detaches Eggsy’s head from the rest of his body. He feels drunk and drugged, too loopy to argue with Harry or try to slug him.

“Your mother was a brave woman, Eggsy,” Harry tells him, appearing by his side like a bloody ninja. He has an earnest look about him now as he takes a seat near Eggsy’s knees. “A good woman. She would have been proud of you.”

A stranger’s kindness hits Eggsy harder than he reckoned it would; it breaks him apart, sending tears into a free fall down his face. Each sob makes his body hurt, even with painkillers, and _fuck,_ he misses his mum.

Eggsy wishes she was there, wrapping her arms around him and whispering comfortingly into his ear. She always knew what to say when he was in a mood because she was amazing like that. Instead, he’s sobbing in front of strangers and she’s gone. Neither of these men has to tell him, he remembers.

“Rest now,” Harry urges, offering a tight smile. “We’ll talk later.”

He does, but not because Harry tells him to.

 

* * *

 

“He woke up earlier,” Merlin hears the second he steps off the bullet train and onto the platform where Harry waits.

The news jolts him harder than he thought it would. He had hoped to be there when Eggsy came around, just so there was a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar ones, even if the lad didn’t remember their unorthodox introduction. Instead, Harry had frog-marched him to the front of the shop and into one of their black cabs with orders to take him home.

Begrudgingly, Merlin admits that he _did_ need the rest, but not within earshot of his best friend, who will gloat because he’s a daft cow.

They begin walking towards his office so he can deposit his things; along the way, he expects Harry to elaborate more on Eggsy’s condition. Merlin has no idea know why he’s surprised when Harry does the unexpected and doesn’t. “And?” he asks with an impatient gesture.

“He was rather emotional,” Harry replies, furrowing his brows. “And has quite the mouth on him; was demanding to know who we were, who his mother was. Ended up jarring his ribs while he was busy shouting at Xavier and myself.”

Merlin groans; that is _not_ what he wanted to hear. While Harry has the best of intentions, he can be a bit of an emotionally constipated arsehole when it comes to the feelings of others. It’s probably why he and Michelle had such a rough beginning, though they were able to mend that in the end.

“You’re a wanker, you know that?” he states as he pulls out his key card, much to Harry’s surprise. Merlin rolls his eyes at the other man’s blinking. “Of _course_ he’s emotional, you tit! His mum and step-father were murdered in front of him and he nearly died, too! Fucking hell, Harry,” Merlin snarls. He opened the door to his office, stomping inside as the sensors turn on the lights.

Harry makes an indignant sound. “A little bit of gratitude would have been nice,” he scoffs, balling his fists at his sides.

“Perhaps a show of compassion, hm?” Merlin fires back. He removes his coat, followed by his gloves and scarf, which he throws on top of the couch he keeps, much to Chester’s dismay. “Imagine how scared you’d be.”

His friend’s expression softens, understanding washing over him. “Point taken,” Harry says, thoroughly abashed.

Merlin nods as he grabs his tablet from his bag. “For a brilliant agent, sometimes I wonder about you,” he teases. “Anything else I should know about? Will Mr. Unwin be speaking in tongues if I go down there?”

“ _If_?” Harry laughs. When he looks up, Harry has that smile in which he knows Merlin is full of it. Which he most certainly is. “We both know you’ll be down there as soon as you get your coffee!”

“Have you made any headway on Valentine’s known associates who had contact with Igraine?” Merlin replies, quickly changing the subject.

Judging by Harry’s annoyed huff, it works. “I have a few people on my list. What about you? Anything useful on the medallion’s drive?” He says the last bit in a cautious whisper, eyes dart from left to right to see if anyone is eavesdropping.

Putting a thin USB drive inside of the Kingsman medallion is one of Merlin’s more innovative ideas, and Michelle had been his first test subject. The development was something he did off the books, with only Michelle and Harry knowing about it. To metal detectors, x-rays, and the human eye, it was just a piece of jewelry; perfect for hiding recon without the mark being any wiser.

“Not yet,” Merlin replies as they enter the cafeteria. He lowers his voice. “It contains Valentine’s entire computer drive; shifting through it will take some time.”

“A brilliant move on both your and Michelle’s parts,” Harry whispers, handing Merlin a coffee mug. “I doubt any of us could have retrieved it.”

Merlin shrugs, uncertain if he deserves the praise. “It might have gotten her killed,” he says. He knows Harry is going to launch into a diatribe of how risks come with the job. “I know that we live dangerous lives. I do, and she knew that as well. You don’t need to tell me.”

“Good, because it really becomes tiresome, Hamish,” Harry grouses, hissing on the last ‘h’ in Merlin’s given name to emphasize his point.

With a scowl, Merlin goes about preparing his coffee with his friend lingering at his side. Thankfully, Harry offers no other biting comments even when he heads towards the medical ward. Just a quick goodbye before turning on the heel of his oxfords and going in the opposite direction.

Merlin hopes Harry will take his own advice and go home to rest. Knowing the other man, who happens to be an utter hypocrite, he won’t. Something having to do with the investigation will catch his attention, and off he’ll go in typical Harry Hart fashion.

He’s certain he’ll hear Chester whining about it later.

It’s no matter; Merlin has other things to worry about that, thankfully, don’t directly involve Harry or Chester. As he walks into the medical ward and towards Eggsy’s room, he hopes the lad is awake so he can introduce himself while offering his condolences and some clarity to his newfound situation.

While there isn’t a lot he can divulge, Merlin resolves to tell Eggsy as much as he can without breaching his Kingsman oath. As he turns the knob to the room where the lad is recuperating, he hopes their meeting will go smoother than the first time, or when Harry saw him.

As the door opens and reveals an empty bed, Merlin realizes that perhaps he should have wished for that a bit sooner.

 

* * *

 

Here’s the thing: Eggsy is fairly good at sleight of hand thanks to his schoolmates, Jamal and Ryan.

When he was a teenager and up to the usual mischief one is at that age, his friends sat Eggsy down and taught him how to pickpocket. He was appalled at first because frankly, Eggsy was the well behaved one of their group. The voice of reason, the one who looked out for the hall monitors when Jamal and Ryan were smoking fags in the boys’ lavatories, and the one who made sure they didn’t sick up in the entryway of their houses after a night of underage drinking.

Eggsy never directly participated but even still, he wanted his friends to stay out of trouble. So, _yeah_ , at first he was appalled, then intrigued.

They showed him how, smirking all the while until the student mastered the teacher. Hilarious, now that Eggsy thinks about it. From there, Jamal taught him how to pick locks with nothing but a pin and a bank card.

Stupid little things that could get them all in trouble, things that Eggsy ended up incorporating into his time with the Marines. The very same sleight of hand he used to pilfer Dr. Hanover’s key card when the old man was too busy sticking him with a needle.

It’s kind of funny seeing how he just outsmarted a member of a secret organization that _isn’t_ MI6, apparently. He doesn’t believe that Galahad-Harry Hart-whatever-his-name-is bloke; honestly, he thinks he’s one of those pompous arseholes with a silver spoon shoved up his arse.

As he hobbles along the empty corridor while clutching his middle, Eggsy can picture him and the doctor chap in their posh Mayfair or Hyde Park houses, surrounded by finery and thumbing their noses down at people who don’t meet the net worth to live in those areas. He hates them, honestly. Hates them because they know his mum’s secrets, knows her better than Eggsy ever did and dangles it in front of him like bait.

What they are expecting from him, he doesn’t know, and he isn’t planning on finding out. Nah, he’s going to get out of here, because an establishment like this must have vehicles somewhere and he’s getting the hell out of Dodge. What comes next…well, Eggsy is just going to wing it, he supposes.

He slips through the belly of this place Harry referred to HQ, wearing nothing but slippers, thin pajama bottoms, and a t-shirt under a lab coat he stole from some unsuspecting fool. Being up and about is probably the worst idea he’s had in quite a while, but escape itches at him like a rash.

Eggsy has nowhere to go, but he certainly doesn’t want to stay here.

“Fuck me,” he hisses when he moves a bit too quickly and a shooting pain runs the length of his spine. It leaves him breathless for a moment, enough that Eggsy needs to stop. He slumps against the cool wall, waiting for the fire in his gut to die down.

A small voice that sounds suspiciously like his mum tells him, _you shouldn’t be moving about_. Eggsy ignores it because he’s angry.

But mostly because he misses her.

Shifting slowly, he still feels the bruises under the material of his clothes. It blooms and intensifies, traveling deep into the confines of his body, and then he remembers the _other_ injuries.

And his mum’s sightless eyes and parted lips pressed into the carpet, blood surrounding her like a morbid shroud. The men who take their turns, using Eggsy until his mind goes blank and he loses track of time. Loses track of the stabbing pain between his legs, how it coils in his belly and makes him cry out. _Why,_ he asks himself as his awareness fades out. _Why me? Why?_

There’s no answer, just darkness.

Eggsy shivers and instantly regrets it. He bites back a whimper, gnashing his teeth into his bottom lip and closing his eyes. They sting something fierce; from the burn of tears, from exhaustion. Blinking them again, Eggsy sniffles and finds his resolve once more.

He’s going to get the fuck out of here and hide; where he doesn’t know. One thing’s for certain—he ain’t dragging Jamal and Ryan into this mess.

With a short breath and all the will in his body, Eggsy forges on in his escape. And it hurts, it fucking hurts. He really should have thought this one through, but it’s too late now. _Car,_ he thinks while dipping into another corridor. _Plane, skateboard, anything._

He’s halfway down another stretch of hallway in this labyrinth of a building—the end of which opens to a bloody garage, _thank fuck_ —when a siren pierces his ears, shrieking in warning. Before Eggsy’s eyes, the lights turn red and begin flashing.

“Security breach in Level B,” a computerized voice says over the intercom system, all posh and calm. “Security breach in Level B. Facility on lockdown.”

A groan pushes through his lips while Eggsy rolls his eyes. “A bit of overkill, innit?” he grumbles. So what if he pinched some doctor’s key card? It’s not like he stole national secrets of the United bloody Kingdom!

Now he’s going to have to hightail it to the garage, which he does at half speed and finds himself surrounded by a sick fleet of vehicles. Bugattis, Ferraris, Lambos, an honest to god Aston Martin DB5—the works! He wants to sit in every one of them, except he hears a stampede heading his way. Thinking far quicker than his body can move, Eggsy limps to a standard black cab like the ones he sees puttering around London.

As the tips of his fingers touch the door handle, he hears a man say, “Really, lad? I thought you would have taken the Bugatti.”

Every part of Eggsy freezes—his breathing, his limbs, his heart which he swears stops beating for a moment— before he dares to turn around. Behind him is a vaguely familiar bloke with the slightest hint of amusement on his face.

_The scent of cologne and Earl Grey tea mixed in with wool and the coppery tang of blood. A very tall, bald man glowering at him before Eggsy shouts—_

The lack of glasses is what throws Eggsy off, as do the shades of greens and smudges of amber in his irises, scattering like a kaleidoscope. The words _oxfords, not brogues_ push at his tongue, bubbling and churning to be shouted once more; a plea for mercy, a plea to let him escape.

“Eggsy,” the man softly beckons. Something about his expression shows that he’s more understanding than Harry was; that he knows how hard this must be for Eggsy. “You don’t want to do this, lad.”

Eggsy opens his mouth to tell this bloke to fuck off, and that he doesn’t have a clue about what he wants; none of these people do. The sob that bubbles up and painfully exits his chest through his lips instead of his voice is unexpected. He steps away from the cab, feeling the smooth handle slipping from his fingers, and sinks to the concrete floor.

He sobs until his ribs ache, until his voice is hoarse and the other man offers him a hand up with an understanding smile.

 

* * *

 

Hanover is rightfully narked off while he examines Eggsy later on.

His earlier friendliness has been replaced with clipped sentences and a frown as he asks Eggsy questions and takes in his answers. Eggsy can’t blame him really; he _did_ get outsmarted by a civilian, not to mention someone young enough to be his grandson.

He wants to laugh about it but decides against it because the good doctor is the one with access to the needles and drugs—who knows what he’ll do when Eggsy isn’t looking. Besides, his ribs are hurting and laughing would be a decidedly bad idea in a series of them. So Eggsy bites the inside of his cheek and patiently sits through Hanover’s interrogation.

Off to the side stands a livid Harry and Merlin, the latter with arms crossed over the front of his jumper while they wait. He’s less stuffy than Harry, or even Dr. Hanover, who fastens his IV line to the port still embedded in the top of his hand. He doesn’t scold or threaten Eggsy for his escape attempt; in fact, Merlin seems to find it all very amusing. He spent the first few minutes inside of the hospital room with his mouth pressed into his knuckles, hiding a smirk as Harry and Hanover gave Eggsy a thorough verbal arse-reaming.

Neither man was happy, but boo for them! It’s not like Eggsy is any happier being in their company.

“Ought to sedate him into next week,” Harry mutters under his breath.

“I _can_ hear you,” Eggsy fires back, snapping his head in Harry’s direction.

Harry doesn’t seem to care. “Good. I’m glad that your auditory senses are still intact since it seems your common sense is not!”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” he protests, snatching his hand away from Dr. Hanover. “You and your silver spoon up your arse, acting like you’re better than me because you wear a three-piece suit. Wanker! You’re just narked off because _I_ outsmarted _you_.”

For a moment it seems that Harry is going to march over to the bed and clock him. He moves a centimeter and Merlin’s arm shoots out, stopping him. “A word?” Merlin hisses, guiding the other man to turning their backs towards Eggsy.

Hanover clears his throat and Eggsy looks back at him, expecting another sharp rebuke. Instead, the old chap holds the blankets for him to slide his legs under. Once Eggsy’s situated, Dr. Hanover fiddles with the IV line and the bag dripping into it while his colleagues bicker intensely, making sure to keep their voices down. He can still hear them, which distracts Eggsy from having to watch Hanover injecting his port with more medication.

Wincing, Eggsy glances at him. “For pain and your fever,” the doctor explains. A withering look crosses over Hanover’s face. “You’re not out of the woods yet, young man.”

“I figured as much when you stuck _this_ ,” Eggsy retorts, lifting his hand, “back in me.” He folds it over his lap because even that’s hard to do for long.

“Consider it a lesson learned then,” Hanover deadpans as a nurse comes in. He gives her orders regarding Eggsy’s care, emphasizing the need for bed rest. “And watch his fever,” the doctor adds, giving Eggsy a pointed look. “It’s going back down and I’d like it to remain that way. Call me immediately if it goes up.”

 _Shit,_ Eggsy groans inwardly. His body’s protests are more evident now than they were before his escapade, and he’s really starting to regret it. A dull ache forms in the center of his skull, expanding out to his still feverish skin, and all he wants to do is rest.

He doubts he’ll be able to do that anytime soon, judging by the way Harry is glaring at him _and_ Merlin. It would be his rotten luck that he ends up being interrogated by them (except Lady Luck seems to have thrown him a bone when Harry grabs his things and leaves). Angry footsteps follow his retreat until they’re out of earshot.

“How is he faring?” Merlin asks. He comes to the end of the bed and curls his fingers around the foot rail.

Hanover shrugs. “I think our young friend has learned his lesson and will heed his physician’s warnings,” he replies with a twinkle in his grey eyes. He passes the tablet to the nurse. “Don’t keep him too long; Mr. Unwin probably wants to get some sleep.”

“I won’t,” Merlin promises as he reaches out to shake Hanover’s hand.

Eggsy watches them, wondering what will come next. Merlin doesn’t seem like the type to lecture him, though he also doesn’t seem the type to let something like this slide. Perhaps he’ll take pity on Eggsy and just tell him not to do it again before leaving. That thought’s quickly squashed as Merlin pulls up a chair alongside the hospital bed and sits down. “Look, I know I fucked up,” Eggsy begins to say, averting his eyes.

Merlin chuckles— _fucking chuckles_ —like this is the funniest shit he’s ever seen! “That makes my job easier, I suppose.”

When his head pops up in surprise, Eggsy finds Merlin’s lips quirked into a smirk. “What?”

“I’m not here to give you a lecture because, quite frankly, that’s Harry’s job.” Merlin leans back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest as he watches Eggsy. “And lectures bore me. Always have.”

“Oh.”

Merlin shrugs. “Now, onto business,” he says. “You must have many questions about the circumstances you’ve found yourself in and questions about your mother. So, ask.”

“Ask? I thought this place was top secret,” Eggsy squawks.

“It _is_ , but you’re also in our custody because it’s what your mother would have wanted,” Merlin answers. “For us to keep you safe,” he clarifies.

A lump forms in his throat, hard and painful, as tears wet his eyes. Eggsy breathes in, then out. “Who was she?” he whispers as his fingers trace the edge of the blankets. “My mum. I know she wasn’t a legal secretary, so who was she?”

He ignores the desperation in his voice. How it makes it brittle and cracks with emotion.

“Your mother was a Kingsman agent,” Merlin replies. Eggsy lifts his eyes, waiting for the other man to continue; desperately wanting him to continue. “One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Eggsy doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. “What the fuck is a Kingsman? Or is that classified?”

“Aye, typically it is, but I think you and I are past that point.” Merlin moves closer until his elbows are on the edge of the mattress. “Kingsman Tailors have clothed the world’s most powerful individuals. By 1919, a great number of them lost their heirs to World War I. As you can imagine, it meant a lot of wealth going uninherited, and a lot of powerful men with a desire to preserve peace and protect life. Our founders realized that they use could that wealth and influence for the greater good. And so began our other venture. An independent, international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion. Above the politics and bureaucracy that undermine the integrity of government-run spy organizations.”

His mum was a secret agent; an honest to God secret agent. A shuddering breath passes in and out of Eggsy’s mouth as one answer leads to more questions. “The suit is a modern gentleman’s armor,” he whispers in disbelief. “And you lot are the new knights.”

“I suppose that’s one way of saying it,” Merlin muses as he scratches the corner of his mouth. His eyebrows raise as he dwells on what Eggsy has said. Shifting again, Merlin leans back in his seat. “Your mother joined us shortly after your father died. He had been one of our candidates and was killed during the final task. Harry went to her with the medallion you brought to us, offering our services as compensation.”

Eggsy frowns. “So he’s always been a twat.”

He’s surprised to hear Merlin’s chuckle, a low rumble from the depths of his chest that ends up being rich and warm when it comes. “Harry has a way of making an impression on people,” the other man explains. “Needless to say, Michelle told him to fuck himself.”

“Sounds like my mum.”

“Aye, it does. She was no-nonsense, she was. And bloody brilliant!” A faraway gaze clouds over Merlin’s face, mournful and thoughtful. He shakes his head, offering Eggsy a grin. “It was her personality that intrigued me, that she didn’t wilt under Harry’s charms. I went to her not long after and offered her something else—the opportunity to join us.”

Honestly, Eggsy assumed it was Harry who would have offered her the job to stroke his wounded ego. He seems like the sort who’d do such a thing. Merlin seems much less high-strung than the rest of the people Eggsy’s encountered so far, save for that Roxy bird—she was alright. He doesn’t walk around wearing a fancy suit or like he has a silver spoon up his arsehole. He carries himself more naturally, more easygoing than the others while still commanding respect.

Kind of how his mum was—maybe she learned it from him. Eggsy recalls several months where his mum was gone and he was in the care of his grandparents. For a new job, she told him the morning she left. She promised to call every night, which she did without fail and squeezed him extra tight when they hugged. It dawns on him that she was in this very facility, training to be a Kingsman agent so they could have a better life.

“She took it,” he says. “I remember when mum left for a few months; said it was for her new job. They needed her to attend seminars and such. She was actually here, wasn’t she?”

It’s not really a question, but Merlin nods anyways. “She was. Your mother completed our training faster than any other agent in the history of Kingsman.” Judging by the glimmer in Merlin’s eye, he is clearly proud of this fact. “You should be very proud of her, Eggsy. She made a difference; helped people and saved them.”

Except she couldn’t save herself or Dean, even Eggsy for that matter. He might be alive, but with the cost of her life and, frankly, Eggsy doesn’t know how to feel about it. Every ache, the echo of cruel men’s laughter, the reminder of blood all around him—he doesn’t need to close his eyes to remember. Eggsy wonders how long it will take for these nightmares to fade and their pain to lessen. Years, maybe, if ever?

“Who sent those people?” he croaks. His fingers tighten around the blankets. “The ones who…” He stops and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t know, lad,” Merlin tells him, roughly,

A calloused hand rests on his arm, rubbing a thumb over the knob of Eggsy’s wrist. It’s a comforting touch, something that doesn’t make him recoil or want to run again. He breathes in and out in time with the movement on his skin, feeling himself calm down.

“But we’ll find them—Harry and I,” Merlin promises. “And I’ll make sure they pay for what they’ve done to you. Do you hear me, lad?”

Eggsy blinks, catching the fierceness in the other man’s dark features. Whatever Merlin’s feeling burns in his expression and body language. His words have meaning; Eggsy knows they do. None of it’s for show, and whoever murdered his parents are going to wish they were dead if Merlin ever finds them.

“Loud and clear, guv,” he answers.


	3. Chapter 3

“Chester wasn’t too pleased about the boy’s escape attempt,” Harry says in a very much ‘I-told-you-so’ tone.

Why Harry feels the need to state the obvious is beyond Merlin, so he ignores it. Sometimes it’s the best thing to do when it comes to his friend. He walks past Harry to his workstation and sits down to do, well, work after spending a good deal of time with Eggsy. Merlin sees a lot of the lad’s mother in him, especially with his tenacity and unorthodox methods. It’s a bit surprising since Michelle described Eggsy as a good lad who stayed out of trouble other than the usual teenage mischief.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only Unwin keeping secrets.

“He wanted him sedated for the foreseeable future,” Harry continues, sounding annoyed. “Granted, Xavier said it wasn’t possible, but for the first time I find myself in agreeance with Mr. King, and that is quite alarming.”

Merlin rolls his eyes because this isn’t the first time Harry has actually agreed with Chester, though Harry will vehemently deny it. He logs into his machine and begins sorting through his messages while his friend huffs like a child.

“Mr. Unwin could have put us in a very serious security risk,” the other man grumbles. “Everything we have built had the potential to be undone because of a boy with quick thinking and sticky fingers!”

“Oh come off it, Harry!” Merlin finally snaps. He spins around in his chair and removes his glasses to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “You and I both know the lad wouldn’t have made it very far. You’re just sour because you’ve been outsmarted by a boy half your age.”

Harry gets an indignant expression on his face, almost like he’s smelled something horrible or is constipated. He squares his shoulders and stands there, glowering like he did in Eggsy’s room. “I am not,” he retorts.

“You are, and none of your posturings will work on me, mate,” Merlin fires back, placing his glasses back on his face. “Besides, he’s resourceful and seems to keep us on our toes. Probably a good thing considering our organization has been steadily growing stale for some time.”

“True; but think of the ramifications if he had escaped!” Harry tries to reason.

Merlin casts an expression of disapproval in his friend’s direction. “He didn’t, so why dwell on the what-ifs? Just admit your ego’s a bit bruised and get out of my office,” he retorts, gesturing towards the door. “Unlike you, I have work to do.”

He waits for the sound of Harry’s movements, wondering if the other man will relent or carry on this ridiculous conversation. Merlin goes back to his work, responding to messages and requests from the R&D team; all of the things he hasn’t done due to Eggsy’s presence. He’s tried, but the lad’s health worried him to the point that Merlin was too distracted. Now that the young man seems on the road to recovery, his fretting can be channeled into more productive tasks.

What he expected from Eggsy once he woke up, he doesn’t know. Fear, perhaps, with a dose of apprehension, grief, and rage. A multitude of emotions from a young man who just lost his parents and had his life upheaved in the blink of an eye. Instead, Merlin found the same strength and determination he had seen in Michelle.

Truthfully, he likes the lad. While Eggsy clearly has a mischievous streak, he’s a good young man that will need time to heal. He doesn’t need people breathing down his neck and not giving him answers about what’s happening to him.

(Something which Merlin is going to speak to Harry about later, once he’s no longer stomping around his office like a pissed off teenager.)

Eggsy calmed once Merlin told him what he could; perhaps a bit more than he should have. Eggsy took the news that his mum wasn’t a secretary but a spy much better than one could imagine. Merlin had seen how it affected him, to learn that the woman who raised him had lied to protect her son from the dangerous double life she led. He cannot imagine how upset Eggsy must be, nor does he pretend to understand.

“I’m here if you have more questions,” Merlin offered. “And I’ll answer what I can. What I’m allowed to tell you.”

The tired, wan smile he received from the lad was promising, and he left Eggsy so he could finally get some rest.

“How was he with you?” Harry asks, interrupting the stretch of blissful silence with his voice.

“Much better than with you,” Merlin replies as he types a message to Percival, who is on a mission in Peru as of twenty hours ago.

Harry harrumphs. “You would say that,” he grumbles as he takes a seat behind Merlin.

“Aye; call it the Greaves Family Charm. Mr. Unwin needed some answers and I gave them.”

“Just how detailed were you?”

Merlin glares at Harry’s reflection in his computer monitors. “Enough to appease him.” He turns around and leans forward, clasping his hands together. “Imagine what it must be like to have everything you’ve known ripped away and learn that it wasn’t what it seemed. Michelle upheld her duty as a Kingsman, but she also lied to her son. He deserved answers and she would have wanted us to tell him, Harry.”

He sees Harry’s mouth open for a retort before Merlin gives him a pointed look. Harry lets out an exhausted sigh instead. “Fine,” he says, scrubbing his face. “You’re right. The boy deserves answers, especially now that he’s been thrust right into this madness.”

“I knew you’d see things my way,” Merlin jokes. “If you’re curious, he handled the news well.”

“Shocking,” Harry deadpans, unimpressed. He’s probably a little bitter that he’s struck out twice now with an Unwin.

In the end, he and Michelle became friends, though it took some time for her to warm to Harry due to their tense first meeting. No one can fault her for that; one doesn’t tend to really like the person who brings the news that their spouse is dead.

It’s just amusing that history should repeat itself in her son.

“How is he now?”

Merlin shrugs as he turns to his monitors. “Resting, finally,” he answers distractedly as he types.

Behind him, Harry nods. “That’s good, I suppose. Rest promotes healing, as they say.” He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Ta, thanks ever so much,” Merlin tells him, his tone oozing with sarcasm. Over the sound of Harry’s retreating oxfords, he hears his friend mumbling _wanker_ under his breath and just laughs. Harry and his ego are a constant source of amusement _and_ annoyance, though the latter is certainly grating on Merlin’s nerves.

Merlin throws himself into his work, catching up on items that were pushed to the wayside over the last several days. It keeps him busy and out of trouble for several hours, until Roxy appears at his doorway asking if he’s had lunch, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

He goes to the cafeteria, where he grabs a plate so he can resume sequestering himself in his office. Merlin doesn’t really enjoy socializing on his best days, and with the amount of gossip Eggsy’s presence and Michelle’s death have generated, he’d rather avoid people if he can help it.

It may not be very gentlemanly, but he can’t be arsed to care. Besides, having a conversation would be difficult for Merlin since his mind is elsewhere.

Eggsy—well, thoughts of him—catch Merlin off guard. When he’s instructing Gawain to an extraction point, while he’s replying to one of Chester’s ridiculous demands, as he’s sipping his tea, the lad interrupts his duties with a brief glimpse of his moss green eyes or a tired smile. Merlin knows Eggsy doesn’t need someone, especially a man twice his age, ogling him; he needs a confidant.

So he’ll try his best; if not for the boy, for his mother.

 

* * *

 

Sleep doesn’t come easily for Eggsy.

Yeah, it comes just as Merlin leaves to go do whatever the fuck he does in this place and Eggsy’s knackered, but it doesn’t stay for long.

Eggsy wakes to semi-darkness a few hours later, feeling even more exhausted than before and in need of something to drink. Using the button looped over the rails of the hospital bed, he summons one of the nurses, who seem more than happy to bring him some water. The nurse, a bloke his age or so with blond hair with murky blue eyes, brightens the lights upon their return and asks Eggsy if he needs anything else, nodding when he declines and leaves.

Alone again, Eggsy makes himself drink from the glass as his nerves thrum under his skin. He feels strung tight, cornered even. His senses want him to flee again, to escape and find a place to hide, but Eggsy knows how dangerous that idea could be. His body isn’t ready for hard activity, and there’s probably a bounty on his head if the people who murdered his mum and Dean have already figured out that he’s alive.

Without any connection to the outside world, Eggsy has no idea what the public or, more importantly, what his friends know. He could be declared dead as far as Kingsman is concerned and be fitted with a new identity like he’s in a spy film.

Uncertainty doesn’t sit well with him. It tugs at his mind and sends it reeling, preventing Eggsy from getting some rest. He can already picture Dr. Hanover’s cross expression when he finds out.

Setting the glass down on the bedside table, Eggsy catches sight of the discarded pager and wonders if Merlin is still within the facility or if he would be willing to keep him company. He likes the bloke. He doesn’t outright lie to Eggsy’s face or treat him as if he’s made of glass. Merlin seems to be the take it or leave it sort; there’s no posturing with him and Eggsy can appreciate that.

Not to mention, he saved his life.

Eggsy presses the pager in a moment of courage and waits. The same nurse who brought him water appears at the door with a cheery smile.

“Did you need something else, Mr. Unwin?” he asks kindly.

A flush creeps up his cheeks and it isn’t from his fever. “Um, yeah,” Eggsy says, trying to maintain a facade of dignity. “Is Merlin still around?”

“I’m not certain, but I can check for you,” the nurse replies as his fingers drum against the door frame. “Just a tic!” The nurse is only gone for a few minutes and returns with the same smile on his face. “Just paged him for you; said he’d be here in a bit. Has to finish up…” He hesitates, before offering a shrug. “Kingsman things.”

Eggsy can only nod in understanding. “Gotcha,” he says. “Thanks, by the way…”

“Digby,” the nurse tells him, still grinning. “And you’re welcome. You just let me know if you need anything else, yeah?” And with that, he leaves.

Merlin comes in a half hour later, clutching an iPad in one hand with a mug of steaming liquid in the other. His glasses slide down his nose, which he pushes back up before nodding his head in greeting. “Good evening,” he says as he walks to the bed. “Digby mentioned you wanted to see me.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Eggsy confesses, watching as Merlin takes a seat in the chair he occupied hours ago. His fingers toy with the blankets as he shrugs. “It’s too quiet.”

He expects Merlin to give him a lecture on only calling for him in the case of an emergency. “Ah, I see your quandary,” he replies, setting the mug down on the bedside table. “I enjoy a bit of white noise myself. Would you like me to arrange for a sound machine to be brought in?”

“I just…” He pauses, silently seeking the right words. Biting his lip in frustration, Eggsy turns to the other man and shrugs. “I have so many thoughts running through my head, you know? Every time I start to get tired, something else pops up and I can’t sleep.”

Merlin takes off his glasses and nods. “Well, you have found yourself in quite unusual circumstances.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy asks, chuckling sadly. “I feel like a head case. Like I’m going to wake up any moment to find out that this was just a bad dream. That my mum and Dean are…” He chokes on a sob as tears prick hotly at his eyes. Just mentioning them causes Eggsy to break down and, _fuck_ , he misses his parents. Wiping his hand over his face, he sniffles and looks at Merlin. “Did mum ever tell you about the first time she had Dean watch me?”

The other man shakes his head. He leans forward, pillowing his arms on the mattress. “She didn’t.”

Eggsy snorts, remembering. “It had been me and mum for a long time, yeah? Then my step-dad came into the picture. Thought he was nice enough, even if Dean didn’t have a clue about kids. Mum had gone on a business trip and my gran couldn’t watch me, so Dean volunteered.” He recalls his step-dad appearing a bit green around the gills when his mum left them and nervously eyeing Eggsy, who just stared back. God, he had been such a little shit as a child! “I came down with the stomach flu two days in and Dean raided the Tesco and pharmacy around the corner. He thought mum was going to kill him! Had no idea that kids get sick, poor bastard.”

The week his mum was away, Dean did everything he could to keep Eggsy as comfortable as possible. He made soup, fed him popsicles when his stomach could tolerate it, rubbed his back when he got sick in the toilet, brought him a hot water bottle to press against his belly. Things his mum would have done, and by the end of it, Eggsy decided he liked Dean, while Dean caught his flu. It was a pivotal bonding moment between them, something they laughed over as years went on.

“I wish I had gotten the chance to meet him,” Merlin says as he offers Eggsy a box of tissues. “And you, under better circumstances.”

Eggsy’s beyond being embarrassed by tears. “Thanks,” he mumbles before going about cleaning himself up. “Do you know what will happen to me once Dr. Hanover’s sick of me?”

Merlin nods. “You’ll be released into my custody, per the agreement which lies with the medallion you had in your possession. Harry and I believe it would in your best interest to have someone look after you since we’re uncertain of the reasoning behind the attack on your family.”

“It’s better than staying here, I suppose,” Eggsy grouses. “What about my things, though?”

“We should discuss that,” Merlin says, looking more than uncomfortable. And rather guilty. “I wanted to wait to bring this up since you’re early in your recovery. The people who did this…they set the flat on fire to cover up their tracks. Do you remember anything about that?”

He does; he remembers the crackling of flames as they crept up the walls and the thickness of smoke overpowering the air as he stumbled over his bed. Licking his lips, Eggsy nods. “A bit. I woke up to it and crawled out the window. Threw my arse into the rubbish bins below.”

“Ah,” the other man replies. “Good thinking, lad. I reckon that your quick actions saved your life.”

“But what about the flat? My things? My mum and Dean’s things? The family photographs…” Eggsy rattles off, sounding panicked.

Merlin opens his mouth to say something but closes it after a moment. He sadly shakes his head.

“Do you mean it’s gone?” Eggsy whispers. Shock seeps into him like an icy cold night, like being dunked into frigid waters and being stabbed by thousands of knives. “All of it?” He sees Merlin nodding before the air rushes from his lungs. Deflating, Eggsy falls against the pillows and stares at the end of the bed.

Everything he owned, everything his parents owned, is _gone_. Eggsy only has the clothes on his back; even then, still, he has no idea where they’ve been stashed. For all he knows, these Kingsmen lot had to cut them from his body or trash it because of the stains.

“I am so sorry,” Merlin tells him.

A shiver runs through him, jarring his injured ribs. With a wince and a curse, Eggsy raises his eyes to find Merlin staring at him. The bloke is really sorry as if he was the one who set the fire. “Ain’t your fault,” Eggsy points out.

“I feel as if it is,” the other man says. “That I missed something during your mother’s mission and as a result, she and your step-father were killed.” Merlin leans back in his seat, his face wroth with disappointment. “As her handler, I should have done more to safeguard her. And you, of course.”

Eggsy swallows. He doesn’t really have anything to say to that because, shit, this moment is too heavy for him to handle right now. From what little he knows of the bloke, he seems competent enough and wouldn’t toy with the lives of his agents for shits and giggles. “That’s us, then,” he mumbles. “Completely fucked.”

Choked laughter fills the room and when Eggsy takes a glance, Merlin is biting his lip in a poor attempt to conceal a smirk. His eyes brighten with amusement and honestly; it’s a good look on him. Something in the air loosens and a sense of ease settles between them.

They talk about inconsequential things—favorite football clubs, hobbies, the last book either of them read. It’s a far different conversation than Eggsy’s had with anyone since coming here; it’s all so normal. The burden of what’s happened to him doesn’t linger over every interaction and Eggsy just feels…better.

That’s not the right word; calmer.

His body becomes heavy with drowsiness, causing the conversation to taper off. He vaguely recalls lying on his side as Merlin draws up the blankets to his shoulder, murmuring if he needs anything else. Eggsy isn’t sure if he answers, and if he does, if it’s even coherent.

All he’s sure of is the scent of wool, cologne, and Earl Grey gently coaxing him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

After spending four weeks in Dr. Hanover’s care—five days of which he wasn’t even conscious—it’s a bit of an understatement to say that Eggsy’s happy to be released from the medical ward.

Elated is perhaps a far better word to describe what he’s feeling, nervous being another. Nah, scratch that. He’s fucking terrified. Terrified about what the world has in store for him once he leaves the Kingsman grounds, and if they’ll catch the people responsible for murdering his parents. If he’ll be able to bury their bodies near his dad’s plot.

All of these ifs and not a single absolute; it makes his stomach turn to knots.

Sitting alone in the hospital room, Eggsy waits for someone to fetch him. He wears clothing that was given to him by Merlin the evening before, as the ones he wore during his arrival to HQ are evidence, which Merlin seemed rather apologetic about. It’s just as well since Eggsy has no desire to see them again, even if they are the last of his things.

He wonders if the fabric still smells of the flat or the smoke that consumed it. Maybe it’s saturated with his blood or the semen of the men who…

Eggsy squeezes his eyes shut, squeezing until his head begins to ache as much as his throat. He opens his eyes, allowing the tears to fall.

“Eggsy?” a soft voice calls from the doorway. It’s Roxy. “Are you alright?”

Quickly, he wipes the sleeve of his jumper over his cheeks. “Yeah,” Eggsy croaks, forcing a smile. “Why do you ask?”

One of her brows arches; he wonders if Roxy will point out that he was crying seconds ago. She opens her mouth and Eggsy braces himself. “Very well. Would you follow me? Merlin and Galahad asked for you to meet them upstairs.”

That’s unexpected, he thinks, standing slowly. Eggsy remembers his jacket and snatches it before following Roxy. “This place is a labyrinth.”

“It is,” she agrees with a chuckle. “I remember when I started here; got lost on my first day, if you could believe it. Igraine found me.”

“Igraine?” Eggsy questions.

Roxy smiles at him. “Your mum,” she replies. Another piece of his mum’s puzzle falls into place and it’s deafening. Eggsy stops walking only because Roxy does, as she has a look of horror on her face. “Oh, Eggsy.”

He grins because it’s all he can do. “It’s okay,” he assures as they continue on in silence. “Igraine was the mum of Arthur, yeah?”

“As well as Elaine, Morgause, and Morgan le Fay,” Roxy says, sounding relieved. A small smile appears on her face. “According to legend.”

“Most people forget about them,” Eggsy says. “Except for Morgan because…you know. Legends and all.”

Roxy chuckles. “People tend to forget some of the details in a legend,” she comments. “Though heroes, fair maidens, and villains are usually remembered.”

“Plot devices,” he states, earning more of Roxy’s laughter.

She guides him out of the underbelly of HQ to a ground floor of a mansion, which shouldn’t surprise Eggsy given how everyone, save for the medical staff, and Merlin, walks around in bespoke suits and polished loafers. The marble floors click under Roxy’s heel and squeak beneath his, ironic in hindsight.

His attention isn’t that nuance, but the paintings and statues leading the way to wherever Roxy is taking him. To Merlin and Harry, he recalls, refusing to use Galahad to refer to that poncey wanker.

“This way,” Roxy tells him as she presses her badge to a reader. The door unlocks, then opens under her hand to reveal a sitting room worthy of a Jane Austen novel.

Eggsy takes a tentative step inside, suddenly feeling terribly out of place in his denim trousers, trainers, and jumper. He cranes his head to see Merlin and Harry by the window, deeply involved in an intense conversation. As he comes closer, Eggsy picks up bits and pieces like “can’t believe you”, “you’re overreacting as usual”, “what if it falls into the wrong hands?”, “stop being such a doom monger”, and so on.

It’s actually pretty hilarious to watch two grown men bicker like schoolchildren. Roxy clears her throat, which earns their attention. Both men turn, looking rather embarrassed; Harry tugs on the front of his suit jacket as he mutters something under his breath and steps forward.

“Eggsy, you are looking well,” Harry comments. He goes to one of the loveseats where he makes himself comfortable. He gestures to the couch across from him. “Merlin tells me that Dr. Hanover has released you as of this morning. You must be pleased.”

Sparing a glance at Merlin who takes a seat next to Harry, Eggsy notices Roxy leaving the room. “Yeah, I guess,” he replies, unable to hide the nervous quiver from his voice. “Roxy mentioned that you asked to see me.”

“We did,” Harry says as a man enters the room with a tray of tea and scones, which is set down in front of them. Once they are left alone, Harry continues speaking. “It is standard procedure to interview those involved with a case, such as yours, especially when it involves one of our own. Tea?”

Eggsy nods slowly. “Yes please.”

“As I was saying, it is one of our procedures to interview subjects directly involved in a case,” Harry explains as he pours Eggsy a cup of tea. His hands go to the sugar, to which he raises his eyes and Eggsy answers with a shake of his head. Next is milk and he nods, earning a smile from Harry.

Something about that smile makes Eggsy feel uneasy.

“What Harry means is that given the nature of the questions, we would like to offer you a choice for such an interview,” Merlin interrupts. Judging by his expression, he doesn’t seem very pleased about it.

Harry reaches into his suit jacket, producing a vial of amber liquid which he places in front of Eggsy. “What’s this?” the lad asks.

“This is a potent serum that allows us to question individuals,” Harry answers.

Eggsy blinks. “Like a truth serum?”

“No,” Merlin grouses.

“This vial’s contents block the receptors in the brain that create a memory; the subject won’t recall our conversation and will go along their merry way without realizing that they’ve misplaced time,” Harry explains, casting an annoyed look at Merlin. “Given the traumatic nature in which you came to us, _we_ decided that you should be given the option of taking this before we begin.”

Merlin snorts in disgust. “We should have done away with it when we had the chance,” he mutters.

“Tosh,” Harry snaps. “The positives outweigh the negatives.”

“I want to hear you say that _when_ it falls into the wrong hands,” Merlin hisses.

Harry is busy rolling his eyes when Eggsy reaches for the vial for closer inspection. It looks fairly ordinary, like just plain water. Something he’d see in a film or on one of the nighttime dramas his mum adored so much. Cue the ominous tones and heightened shadows…except there are none; just Harry and Merlin sitting across from him as they sip their tea.

“So what happens?” Eggsy asks with a shrug. “Do I fall into a trance? Jump as high as you want me to?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. This isn’t mind control, Eggsy,” he says. “You take it and you won’t remember our interview.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Eggsy raises a brow at the two men, searching their faces for the telltale signs of lying. It’s something he was taught by his mum and officers in the Marines, a trick he still uses in his civilian life. While Harry is a bit of a smarmy bastard, it’s his eyes that give him away, while Merlin is as guileless as they come—neither of them is playing him false.

Popping the cork off the vial, Eggsy tosses his head back and drinks the contents down in one go. It doesn’t taste like anything, which he suspects is the point. Running his tongue over his mouth, he sets the thing down on the table and stares at the two men. “What now?” he asks.

The next thing Eggsy registers is his cheek pressed against the cool surface of a car window.

Blinking, he pushes himself upright and startles when he finds Merlin sitting next to him. They’re in one of the black cabs he saw in the garage and driving through Chelsea, from the looks of it. Just beyond Merlin is the Thames riverbank, crowded with tourists and Londoners weaving their way through them.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asks, tilting his head as he watches Eggsy. The sunlight catches his eyes just so, causing them to look like brilliant emeralds.

He nods, uncertain. “Think so,” Eggsy says, swallowing. He expects a foul aftertaste, nausea, headache, _something_. Patting his torso down and checking his hands, Eggsy finds nothing wrong with him other than still tender ribs. His shoulders fall as he leans into his seat.

“Sure about that?” the other man questions. A warm smile tugs at his mouth.

Eggsy glances at him. “Maybe?” He licks his lips, wondering the most important question of them all. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Yes,” Merlin says darkly, breaking their eye contact. “Yes, we did.”

Neither of them says another word.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin is just about finished with typing up his report on his and Harry’s interview with Eggsy when he hears its subject stirring from the guest room.

His fingers pause as he listens to Eggsy’s movements; the thud of half-awake feet on the hardwood floor, muffled grumble, and the door being slammed too hard, followed by a curse. The toilet flushes, the faucet turns on, and soon the lad is puttering around the flat. From the sounds of it, he’s gone back into his room; to do what, Merlin has no idea. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Eggsy went back to sleep since it’s still early yet.

It’s been nearly a day since Merlin and Eggsy walked through the front door, where he watched Eggsy take in his new surroundings and listened to his uncertain footsteps as he gave him a tour. Having company in his home is a change since he is a solitary creature due to the nature of his job. None of Eggsy’s earlier friendliness from the mansion fades and they pass a pleasant evening together.

Silence fills the flat once more, leaving Merlin to his thoughts on the interview and how the process taxed him. It was not the questions that disturbed him, but the way the glimmer in Eggsy’s eyes faded as the drug took hold and seducing him into its grasp. One moment the lad was coherent and asking what would happen next before he was temporarily tucked away.

True, Eggsy made the decision to take the drug. Merlin begrudgingly admits that Harry was right in his assumption that it was in Eggsy’s best interest. He shouldn’t have to consciously relive the night his parents were murdered and the life he led was taken from him, nor should he be forced to recall the details of his sexual assault.

That was the most difficult for Merlin to hear about—how an unknown assailant grabbed him by the scruff and pushed Eggsy onto his own bed. How Eggsy listened to the laughter of those who’d slaughtered his family as they used his body.

_“Do you recall how many men raped you?” Harry asked, his gaze flickering from the lad’s blank expression to Merlin who sat in silence and back again. “It’s all right if you can’t remember, Eggsy.”_

_Eggsy blinked. “Two,” he answered, tonelessly. “I passed out at some point; it might have been more.”_

_Merlin made a note of it with trembling fingers as Harry went to the next question. “Do you recall if they had any physical markings that would allow you to identify them? Anything such as moles, scars, tattoos…”_

_“No,” Eggsy said. It’s not an ideal answer, but no one can fault the boy for that. “One of them spoke to me.”_

_“Young or old?”_

_“I couldn’t tell.”_

_Harry nodded “What did he say to you?”_

_“Bet you’re glad she ain’t here to see this,” Eggsy repeated._

_The blood in Merlin’s body boiled while Harry made a sharp intake of breath. He already knew that his friend was plotting the excruciating death of these men. Perhaps they could compare ideas once the interview had concluded._

_Harry swallowed before speaking again. “Would you be able to recognize his voice?”_

_“Yes.”_

Perhaps it’s no wonder Eggsy went to bed early. While he doesn’t recall the interview surely his body was clearly drained from the experience. He dozed off during _Top Gear_ , slumped over the arm of the couch before Merlin shook him awake and gently urged him to go to the guest room. He found Eggsy in there a half hour later, sprawled out under the comforter.

Merlin suspects if he goes to check on him, he’ll find a similar scene. _If only,_ he muses to himself.

Several more hours pass until Merlin hears Eggsy stirring once again; this time the lad makes it out to the kitchen, stumbling on his feet as he scrubs a hand across his tired face. Merlin takes in his guest’s appearance, from the peaks and valleys of his hair to the jumper he’s thrown on over his joggers.

“Good morning,” Eggsy mumbles as he drops himself into a chair at the kitchen table.

“Afternoon, actually,” Merlin gently corrects, offering a smile. He goes back to preparing lunch; just some sandwiches; nothing spectacular or riveting. “You needed the rest I take it.”

Eggsy yawns. “Was fucking knackered,” he explains. “Have you ever tried sleeping in a hospital? It’s downright impossible, even if it’s posh like the one you lot have.”

Merlin can’t contain his amused grin. “The medicinal smell was what got to me. Hungry?”

“Famished,” Eggsy says, eagerly.

“Good,” Merlin replies as he walks over with both plates in hand, setting one down in front of his guest. “I have soda, water, juice…”

Eggsy’s gaze flickers towards the refrigerator. “Whatever you’re having, I suppose.”

“Very well.”

Merlin fetches them soda cans once he’s set his plate down, certain that Xavier would have plenty to say about giving his patient carbonated sugar when he’s just been released from the hospital unit. He’s already picturing the look of disapproval on his colleague’s face and decides to pay no mind to it.

Besides, Eggsy is a grown man and can make his own decisions. “Thanks,” the lad says once Merlin has sat down and slid the can over to him. “It’ll be nice to eat something that has a taste to it.”

He laughs over the hissing sound the soda can makes as Merlin opens it. “Dr. Hanover means well enough,” he assures.

“Like a helicopter mum, if you ask me,” Eggsy grouses. He tucks into his sandwich and makes a sound of appreciation. “Fuck me, this is brilliant! Mustard and mayo—the heavens have come!”

Merlin smirks. “That’s an exaggeration of my culinary skills.”

With his green eyes zeroing in on Merlin, Eggsy makes a disgruntled face as he chews. “You try eating oatmeal and jello for weeks on end and see how a sandwich affects you, yeah?”

“Luckily for me, I very rarely end up under Dr. Hanover’s care,” Merlin tells him.

“Aren’t you an agent like Harry?” Eggsy asks, tilting his head. The afternoon light catches in his eyes, turning them to the color of sea glass found along the shores of Scotland.

He recalls collecting them as a child, wandering up and down the coast with his older brothers. Merlin loved their worn haziness from being beaten into smooth oddly shaped pebbles or how the light reflected off the old soda bottles he stored them in. As he stares at Eggsy, he sees them taking form in the lad’s haunting irises, and feels the beginnings of a flush on his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Merlin shrugs. “I am the quartermaster,” he explains as he picks up his sandwich, “and rarely see field work.”

“Like Q in those James Bond films?”

“Except slightly less dour, and better dressed,” Merlin states.

The corners of Eggsy’s mouth curl into a smile. “Sure about that? Desmond Llewelyn was rather dashing with that chiseled jaw of his.”

Merlin’s lips twitch as he tries to contain his laughter. “Aren’t you full of surprises?” he comments, to which Eggsy just grins.

 

* * *

 

He kind of expects to be held prisoner in Merlin’s flat, seeing how Kingsman practically did so.

Merlin makes it very clear to Eggsy that he may come and go as he pleases as so long that he’s in Merlin’s company, so that’s aces. “It’s to keep you protected,” he explains as they stroll along the sidewalk.

The air is still crisp as the weather gives way from winter to spring. Eggsy keeps his hands balled up inside of the jacket he found in the closet, just another article of clothing in his Kingsman provided wardrobe. It’s not bespoke or outrageously fancy, though it’s nicer than anything he’s purchased for himself. “I was in the Marines,” he says quietly, not wanting to meet Merlin’s eyes.

Remembering his life up to now has become a painful ache that never quite goes away. There are moments Eggsy is able to breathe more easily until something brings him back and the air rushes from his lungs.

Merlin has been great about it, though, which Eggsy thanks his years being with Kingsman. He’s probably seen many gobsmacked folks like himself and has learned from these experiences to guide Eggsy through each day.

Or he’s just a really good bloke.

“Training which is valuable,” Merlin tells him. “But it’s no match for the people who did this to…” His words fade and he shakes his head. “They are professionals, as am I.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t outright kill someone, bruv,” Eggsy replies.

Merlin raises a brow. “Not without probable cause.”

“Have you…” he begins to say before stopping himself. He cranes his head around, checking to see if he can speak freely. “Killed someone? For them, I mean.”

“It’s the nature of the job, I’m afraid,” Merlin answers by whispering into Eggsy’s ear.

Eggsy turns, surprised by the close proximity he finds himself in which the other man. Able to make out every shade of green and brown in Merlin’s hazel eyes, Eggsy stares into them seemingly hypnotized. Sound fades out, muffled as he takes in Merlin’s other features—the sharpness of his nose, his skin’s perpetually golden hue, and the black scruff peppering his jaw, a dimple near the left side of his mouth.

Little intricacies that Eggsy hadn’t noticed before.

Then again, Merlin is staring back at him in broad daylight. This isn’t a dark club with strobing lights and pulsing music or a cocktail to smile seductively over; Merlin can actually see him.

Eggsy blinks, breaking the eye contact. “Sorry,” he says, covering his embarrassment by chuckling. “Kind of spaced out, yeah? Not used to all this fresh air.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Never mind that you were recovering from being seriously injured. You could have asked to be escorted for a stroll along the grounds, you know.”

“Information that would have been useful in hindsight,” Eggsy teases. He sucks in the cool air and feels it stinging his nostrils. “Honestly, I’m kinda surprised I wasn’t banished to a remote island.”

“That was one of the options we discussed, but in the end, it was too expensive,” Merlin deadpans.

Leave it to Merlin to have a serious expression when Eggsy glances at him, undoubtedly honed over the years before breaking into a smile. “Oh fuck off,” Eggsy complains. “You ‘bout had me there!”

They walk for a bit longer before settling on a bench overlooking the Thames, cradling Styrofoam cups of coffee in their hands. Merlin purchased them since Eggsy is fairly certain that his wallet burned up with the rest of the flat. The coffee sticks to his throat when he swallows, thinking of the five rooms he’d called home since he was a boy.

“You alright?” Merlin asks.

“Just thinking about the flat,” Eggsy confesses in a whisper as his fingers tap against the cup. “And my parents. Of all the shit I’ll need to do once…burials and stuff.” He pauses, wincing. “Insurance claims.”

The bench creaks as Merlin moves. “We’ve taken care of most of it, save for the burial.”

“What?” Eggsy chokes, nearly letting go of his coffee. “How? How did you even…?”

“We have our ways,” the other man says with a sad smile. “Your mother was a friend and entrusted me to look after you in the event of something happening. It was the least I could do.”

Stunned, Eggsy nods. These people, these Kingsman folks seem to have their hands in an awful lot of pots; it wouldn’t surprise Eggsy if they somehow infiltrated the police force. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For all this…and saving my life that night.”

Merlin’s warm hand covers his, brushing a thumb over his wrist. It isn’t the first time he’s done this; Merlin seems like the tactile sort from what little Eggsy’s learned about him. His touch, as small as they can be, has become the balm to soothe Eggsy’s fears and keeps him from losing his bloody mind.

It’s the only one that doesn’t make him recoil and it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. Nor as intimate, or leaving Eggsy wanting more; not when his life’s in danger.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Merlin suggests after a while.

The sun is beginning its’ descent behind the horizon, turning the sky into a mosaic of violets, pinks, and oranges. By the time they walk through the door of Merlin’s flat, it’s nearly dark save for a faint sliver of light through the trees.

And Eggsy’s knackered. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet filled with Merlin’s collection of outerwear. Peacocks, trench coats, raincoats, parkas…there’s no shortage of them, and they all smell of him. If Merlin wasn’t standing right behind him, Eggsy would linger just a while longer to inhale the comforting scent until his body fell into a state of relaxation.

“You alright?” Merlin asks as he hangs his own coat, and stares curiously at Eggsy.

He shrugs. “Tired,” he admits, scratching his head. “Hungry.”

“We could reheat last night’s leftovers,” the other man offers. He shuts the closet door, his eyes never leaving Eggsy.

That works and Eggsy tells him so. He ends up following Merlin into the kitchen, where he’s set yesterday’s dinner out on the island in their cartons. They mull over their choices in silence, though there is a pressing question on Eggsy’s mind—how well Merlin knew his mum.

For every memory he has of her, Eggsy wonders if he really knew Michelle Unwin at all. He had likened her to an open book before all this happened; a hard-working woman who provided for her son and gave him the best life she could. A loving wife to a husband who loved her just as a much.

Behind her bright smile hid a deadly spy and another existence Eggsy can’t even fathom now that he’s right in the thick of it.

Merlin holds the key to these secrets and he wonders…were they ever romantically involved? He can’t picture his mum cheating on Dean, she was arse over tits for him. Then again…anything is possible.

“Did you know my mum fairly well?” Eggsy asks as casually as he can muster.

“I did,” Merlin says as he peers into a carton. “We spent a lot of time together, especially when she first started.”

Eggsy slowly nods. “Spending a lot of time together for work, I’d reckon.”

“Something like that,” the other man replies, distractedly.

“Oh,” Eggsy whispers. He pulls away from the island with his plate in hand and goes to the microwave. As he’s pressing numbers for the timer, he decides to rip off the proverbial band-aid. “So you two fucked?”

A clatter of silverware against marble fills the kitchen. “What?” Merlin squawks. When Eggsy turns to him, he looks, well, surprised. And a bit flustered. “I never…with your mother. We weren’t…” He palms his face and collects himself. “Your mother and I were never romantically involved. She was a good friend—a great friend—but it wasn’t like that between us, aye? She wasn’t my type.”

“Type?” Eggsy repeats, unsure if he should be offended or not. His friends or Marine comrades used to go on about his mum being well fit, which annoyed him to no end. No matter what little fantasies they had brewing in their thick skulls, getting with his mum was not on. It just wasn’t!

“I…” Merlin begins to say. He presses his lips together in thought and sighs. “I prefer men.”

Oh.

_Oh!_

“Oh,” he says. “Men. You prefer men.”

Merlin inclines his head. “Aye.”

He laughs; laughs harder than he ought to since his ribs are still tender. It rattles loose from his mouth and doesn’t stop until he’s doubled over with tears streaming down his aching cheeks and he’s hiccupping.

Even then Eggsy can’t contain himself; it’s the first time he’s truly laughed in ages and, honestly, he should feel terrible for doing it at Merlin’s expense. Bloody hell! Here he was worried that Merlin had pulled with his mum and that she cheated on Dean when it turns out Merlin is gay!

It shouldn’t send a thrill of happiness through his body or be such a relief, but then again…

When he can finally talk, Eggsy stands up while dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “I thought you were going to say that my mum wasn’t fit enough for you,” he chuckles.

“I see,” Merlin says, looking less confused than he did a moment ago. “Well, I’m glad I could provide some clarification.”

Another bubble of laughter tickles his throat. “Sorry. It’s just…sometimes I feel like the world’s gone to shit and then this happens,” Eggsy tries to explain, albeit very clumsily. “I mean, I’m glad you like blokes. I like them, too.” Merlin raises a brow, and he realizes what he’s just said and _shit, shit, shit_  he’s making an utter arse of himself! “And birds. Both, really. I ain’t picky.”

Merlin keeps his brow arched and perfect as his lips twitch in amusement. He walks over to Eggsy with his own plate in hand, which he sets down before pressing start on the microwave. “Good to know,” Merlin says, standing close enough for the scent of Earl Grey and his cologne to surround them.

Warmth flares low in Eggsy’s belly as he stares into Merlin’s eyes. From the very moment they met, he’s found safety in the other man, and now something else entirely. The attraction coursing through his body leaves Eggsy conflicted; on one hand, he’s just survived a sexual assault, and still experiences nausea when someone other than Merlin touches him.

On the other hand, he has realized how fit Merlin is. He suspects some might find him checking out his host untoward due to his sexual assault, but he’s got eyes. And he ain’t dead. He can appreciate a handsome bloke, that under normal circumstances, he’d try to pull.

“Let me know when yours is done,” Merlin tells him with a secretive smile on his lips. “I just need to pop into the office to check some emails and make sure Harry hasn’t torched the place while I’ve been gone.”

Eggsy pulls a face as he watches Merlin walking away. “You’ve only been gone for a day!”

“Aye, but you don’t know Harry very well.”

“No offense, but thank god!” Eggsy says once he catches up to Merlin. “That bloke seems more high maintenance than one of those posh birds from Mayfair. You know, the ones with the tiny dogs in purses.”

Merlin makes a noncommittal sound. “Dealt with a lot of posh young women with purse-sized dogs, have you?”

“Not my thing,” Eggsy replies.

“Well you certainly aren’t wrong about Harry being high maintenance or having a small dog,” Merlin says with a smirk. “He used to have a terrier named Mr. Pickle, who was the most horrible beast to roam the mansion’s hallways. Shitted on everything that he didn’t rip up. I lost several pairs of loafers to that rat!”

“Are you taking the piss?” Eggsy’s eyes widen as Merlin shakes his head. “You’re serious? Oh fuck, that’s amazing! Of course, Harry Hart would have a dog that’s just as much of a pain in the arse like him!”

The other man chuckles. “While my dear friend sometimes forgets to turn on his sensitivity chip, he is a good man. I think he’s a bit resentful that he’s struck out with two Unwins,” Merlin says

“Not our fault mum and I have good taste,” Eggsy replies with a grin.

Merlin snorts, rolling his eyes as he shuffles them towards the kitchen table and makes a shooing gesture at Eggsy. “I suppose not. Now go on and sit!”


	5. Chapter 5

Poppy sits at her desk, running her index finger over the polished mahogany.

It’s glossy under her skin, as it should be; she’s paid good money to keep things just so. If she desired to, she could glance down to see her reflection staring back at her. Both versions of her would undoubtedly reflect perfectly tousled waves—never too done or undone—and carefully applied red lipstick. Scarlet, also the color of her dress and nails.

The shade associated with immorality and sin, prostitution or adultery—Revelation passages written in the Bible by men who were foolish like those who bought their bullshit. Never mind; they are long dead while she is still here.

Across from her sits an unremarkable man wearing an ill-fitting suit. One of the men hired to do some dirty work now and again, though it should never affect his appearance. Raising a brow, her gaze flickers to Charlie, standing off to the side. He returns her unimpressed look with one of his own as his fingers folds like dominos around the tumbler clutched in his hand.

An unfortunate accident from long ago. Poppy couldn’t let someone as trustworthy and effective like Charlie go to waste, thus she gifted the prosthetic arm to him. That was years ago and he’s gained plenty of scars in her service, though never as catastrophic.

Shame, Poppy muses as her attention goes back to the man who’s possibly leaving stains on her wingback chairs. So unkempt, such a disaster, such a problem. Clasping her hands together, she lays them on her desk in his beady-eyed view.

“I appreciate you coming to see me, Mister…” Poppy begins with a polite smile.

“Rottweiler,” the man says, his thick cockney accent harsh sounding to her ears. “That’s what me mates call me.”

Poppy inclines her head. “Hm. How very quaint,” she replies, using every iota to conceal her contempt for this man. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“You’ve got another assignment for me,” Rottweiler answers, grinning. “Show you I can be trusted shit, yeah? Like that bitch you had me and Bonny Prince Charlie, back there, kill. Fuckin’ mess that was, but it was done in the end. Reckon she and her family are ashes in the wind.”

She presses her lips together, biting back comments about his improper grammar and just everything that just came out of his mouth. “About that,” Poppy says. “It seems there was a complication.”

“Complication?” Rottweiler echoes as he leans forward. His sour breath wafts in the space between them. “What sort of complication, ma’am?”

Poppy pulls back, a genteel smile still on her face. “It seems that one of the marks escaped.” Her hands fall into her lap, parting as one slides to the arm of the chair and clutches it. Anger floods her as it did when Charlie came to tell her the news—a setback.

In the road to success, there are always setbacks. Big or small, they exist and even someone like Poppy must deal with them from time to time. Take Richmond Valentine, for instance; he had been the perfect partner-in-crime until he was compromised and she had to tie up loose ends.

“That’s impossible,” Rottweiler states, shaking his head. “We’s left that flat on fire. That bird and her husband dead and her son halfway there by the time we was done with him.” He turns towards Charlie, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. “We had our bit of fun, didn’t we, guv?”

Charlie sneers at him from over the rim of his drink, making Rottweiler look at Poppy. “No way no one could have gotten out,” he says quietly.

Her nostrils flare. “Well, he did,” she says coolly. Poppy taps on her desk, bringing up a hologram of the boy in question. Good looking and easily underestimated. She should have delved more into his background rather than focusing on his mother. “Gary Unwin, aged twenty-four. He was in the flat, was he not, Charlie?”

“He was,” Charlie replies.

She smiles at his answer; so well trained he is, though she’ll need to have a chat with him later. “So, Rottweiler, if you are so certain that everything was taken care of, why is he still alive?”

“I have no bloody idea!” Rottweiler stammers, looking back and forth between her and Charlie. “I dunno how the fuck he got out! When we left, the flat was more fire than house, yeah?”

Poppy slides her hand across the desk until she’s touching Rottweiler’s, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze as she smiles kindly. “I understand,” she says. “Not every plan is foolproof.”

“Yeah,” Rottweiler agrees as he bobs his head. “How was I to know he was gonna be a wily lil’ fuck?”

Behind him Charlie rolls his eyes and snorts into his drink, causing Poppy to frown. “Sometimes we underestimate those around us,” she sympathizes. “It seems this was the case regarding the Unwin boy. Shame that we’ll need to take more drastic action.”

“Miss Poppy,” the other man intones nervously, “I can fix this. Find the boy and make sure he ain’t comin’ back, you feel me?”

She nods. “I know you will,” Poppy tells him, still smiling. “I know you won’t disappoint me because you have your family to think about. You have a sister in Ipswich, right? Amanda.” Rottweiler pales and it’s a glorious sight; she’ll need to rejoice later, since duty calls. “It would be a tragedy if something happened to her and her children. Luke and Maggie, correct?”

Rottweiler gulps, slipping his hand away from Poppy as he sits up straight. “Why the fuck would I care ‘bout my cunt sister, hm? Good riddance.”

He’s lying and Poppy knows it. Another tactic, then. Something more personal to provoke a piece of scum such as Rottweiler. “And your dog, Chief. He’s such a handsome fellow! What is he? Stafford terrier?”

“Ah fuck, not the fuckin’ dog!” Rottweiler cries out. Bingo. “Don’t hurt me fuckin’ dog! Chief hasn’t done nothin’ to nobody!”

She shrugs. “I love animals; hurting one of them would wound me deeply, Mr. Rottweiler,” Poppy tells him, feigning sadness. “But if you were able to help me take care of loose ends…perhaps it won’t amount to that.”

“W-what,” the man snivels. “What do I need to do?”

“Just follow through on your promises,” Poppy says with a bright smile. “My associate in London will be contacting you upon your return.” She gestures to Rottweiler. “Charlie, if you’d please show our guest out.”

Rottweiler, while not having the most optimal intelligence, knows when it’s time to leave. As he stands, he fiddles with his jacket. “Do I know them? Your associate?”

“No,” she states. “They will reach out to you.”

He goes to leave, confused, as Charlie begins ushering him out of her office. And good riddance, he probably left a stain on her chair!

“But wait,” Rottweiler says, much to Poppy’s annoyance. “How will I know it’s ‘em?”

“You’ll know,” Poppy assures. She watches Charlie grab the man by his bicep and lead him through the door, tossing an apologetic shrug in her direction.

It doesn’t take long for Charlie to see Rottweiler on his way—he’s efficient and effective. When he returns, he pours himself another drink. “Utter tool,” he mumbles over the sound of alcohol filling his glass.

“An utter tool with an unusually impeccable record,” Poppy corrects as she reviews the latest printout of her company’s inventory. “However, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Charlie takes a sip while his cold blue eyes stare at her. “What is it then?” Efficient, effective, and incorrigible.

Poppy stares back as she relaxes in her seat. “Darling,” she purrs. “Rape? Really? Is that how you get your kicks?”

“Sometimes,” he replies, unapologetically. “Is that a problem?”

“If the victim is still breathing, yes.” Poppy watches him, appreciating how unafraid he is of her when most would break in her presence. “I would think it is.”

Charlie lifts his glass to his lips and downs the rest of its contents. “Well,” he says, smacking his lips together. “That would be between Mr. Unwin and me, wouldn’t it?”

Poppy arches her brow. “Is there something I should know about you and Mr. Unwin?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Interesting, she muses. Charlie’s coming towards her now until he’s close enough to corner Poppy in her chair while grinning like a schoolboy. “You’re keeping secrets from me,” she tells him.

“It’s not a secret if it isn’t worth knowing,” Charlie remarks, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Shall I reach out to our contact in London?”

Poppy rolls her eyes. “Yes, darling.” She grabs his tie, yanking him forward so they are staring right into each other’s eyes. The way she likes Charlie best, at her beck and call. “Only if you promise me not to be so sloppy next time.”

“Oh darling,” Charlie whispers sweetly. “Next time, he’ll be dead.”

 

* * *

 

_“He has his moments,” Michelle told him once over cups of tea in her office, “and is a cheeky little shit.”_

_Merlin had chuckled, knowing full well that he, too, had been a handful if one asked his parents. A smart-alec with too much curiosity and not enough common sense. “I think boys are meant to be like that.”_

_“Girls too,” she protested, aghast. Michelle’s eyes rolled, reflecting her annoyance as she shook her head. “I never pictured him wanting to join the military, much less doing it without speaking to me or his step-dad about it! I know he’s an adult, Hamish, but Eggsy’s still my baby.”_

_He nods, trying to understand as much as someone without children could. “Perhaps it will be good for him? It might give Eggsy some discipline and help him figure out what he wants to do with his life.”_

_“But does_ anyone _really know what they want to do?” Michelle asked. “I sure as hell didn’t; not until you came along and offered me all this.” With a careless gesture, she motioned to her tidy office. Michelle was a keen organizer, which showed. Everything was in its proper place, labeled, and arranged chronologically, then alphabetically. “Here I thought I was going to be a nurse!”_

_Merlin shrugged. “My apologies for ruining your plans.”_

_“Accepted, I suppose,” she quipped. Setting her teacup down, Michelle drew her teeth over her bottom lip. “I don’t want Eggsy to think that I’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t have a plan yet. He’s so young, Hamish. Just nineteen and too young to be putting such pressure on himself.”_

_“And have you mentioned this to him?”_

_That earned a downright blistering glare. Granted, Merlin should have known better than to ask such a question when Michelle’s involved. The two of them were as thick as thieves, even as her son grew up into a young man. He supposed it’s because they only had each other for long stretches of time—when Lee was deployed and after he died, before she met her second husband._

_“Of course! He said not to worry about it and he’s a proper adult.” Michelle rolled her eyes, snorting in disbelief before looking at him. “A proper adult who still needs his mummy to do his wash when he comes back from St. Andrews.”_

_Listening to her fingernails tapping against the porcelain, Merlin knew full well that Michelle had more to say and was just trying to find the words before saying it. Eggsy was her pride and joy and from the sounds out of it, an outstanding young man. He was contemplating his future while wanting to make his mother and step-father proud, though Merlin suspected that Eggsy needn’t worry._

_“He wants to take some time off from university,” Michelle finally confided. “Eggsy never did a gap year and he said his heart’s not in his studies. And he feels aimless; thinks the Marines would do him some good.”_

_“What do you think?”_

_Michelle shrugged, shaking her head. “I think my son’s wise beyond his years and I don’t want him ending up like his dad,” she answered, wincing. “That sounds awful, considering…” Her voice trails off as she fell into thought. “I want Eggsy to be his own person. Perhaps this might help him find out who that is.”_

Taking a break from scrutinizing the files from the medallion, Merlin watches Eggsy sitting across the room from him as he stares aimlessly out the window. He wonders what Michelle would think of his choice to enter the military if she had known what would happen to them. His training was certainly key to his survival and the ability to keep himself from falling apart until Eggsy was safe in Kingsman custody. Merlin knew she wanted her son to get his degree and live a quiet life, a normal life away from the madness of hers.

Unfortunately, the cards hadn’t fallen in their favor.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Eggsy says. He smiles when Merlin blinks at him. “Thought you were going to burn a hole through the window.”

Merlin smirks. “These glasses don’t have laser beams inside them,” he replies, tapping the black frames with a finger. “I haven’t been able to perfect it yet.”

“I would ask if you were taking the piss, but I know better,” the lad tells him as he hops off the window sill and pads across the room. “Everything alright?”

“Just going through some files.” Merlin taps the laptop screen. “And trying to narrow down which ones need my and Harry’s special attention.”

Eggsy shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and cranes his neck. “Files about my mum?”

“About one of her assignments.”

“Right,” Eggsy sighs. “Can’t tell me, can you? It’s top secret and all.”

He nods, feeling regret churn in his stomach. “It’s better this way. The less you know, the better; it will keep you safe,” he admits.

The lad’s expression pulls into a dejected frown. “Not knowing hasn’t worked so far,” he says darkly. Crossing his arms over his chest, Eggsy curls into himself. “ _Thanks, Mum_ ,” he mumbles, bitterly.

Being surprised by Eggsy’s sudden anger isn’t in Merlin’s cards, nor does he comment on it. The lad has every right to feel the way he does, because yes, Michelle had lied to him. His entire life had been a lie to protect him, and now that it’s been broken apart, Merlin can’t even fathom the turmoil Eggsy’s going through.

“Do you know of Richmond Valentine?” he asks. Eggsy blinks at him and slowly nods. “Your mother was investigating him; he was going to carry out a terrorist plot to decimate the world’s population by using the chips in his mobile phones. Before we could…deal with him, he was found dead in his home. Harry and I believe that whoever murdered him also knew about your mother and her true identity.”

Eggsy makes a face. “The same Richmond Valentine with the gaudy clothes and lisp? Entrepreneur and male version of Mother Theresa? Are you serious?”

“Very,” Merlin answers, turning the laptop towards Eggsy. “The medallion you brought to us also contained a USB drive with information from Mr. Valentine’s personal servers.”

“And you think the person who did him in found out that Mum had it,” Eggsy concludes as he goes to stand behind Merlin.

He leans over the couch, close enough for the woody scent of his grooming products to find their way into Merlin’s nostrils. The heat of his body only amplifies it and halts the thoughts in Merlin’s head. Like he’s become a teenager all over again and cannot trust himself to make a complete arsehole out of himself. “Something to that effect,” he says.

Eggsy grunts in reply.

“Harry and I are trying to solve the puzzle, so to speak,” Merlin adds, gesturing to the laptop screen.

“And how’s that going for you?” Eggsy grumbles as he props himself up on his elbows.

“Not as well as I’d like,” Merlin answers.

The young man shrugs. “Want me to take a look?”

“Eggsy,” Merlin says, staring at him while shaking his head. “You know I can’t…”

“Can’t find anything new,” Eggsy interjects with a smirk. “Yeah, I know, bruv.” He reaches for the laptop and takes it from Merlin’s hands with a wink. “Ever hear the saying about a fresh pair of eyes?”

He wants to scowl at the lad, but can’t bring himself to. “You little cheek,” Merlin states, watching as Eggsy goes back to his perch.

“Been called worse,” he says with a shrug and takes a seat by the window.

“Eggsy—” Merlin begins to say.

The lad looks up, smiling. “Don’t you have something else to do? Like, fold your ties?”

“Fold my ties?”

“Whatever you posh folks do,” Eggsy replies dismissively. He waves Merlin off. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

 

* * *

  

Eggsy’s still by the window, head buried in the documents on the laptop and unaware of being watched.

With furrows brows and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, the lad seems to become very single-minded in his dedication to something that catches his attention. He’s stolen a pad of paper and has been scribbling furiously on it with a pen for hours now, only taking bathroom and sustenance breaks. As he tilts his head in consideration, glimpses of the son Michelle spoke of leaves a bittersweet ache in Merlin’s chest while he steals another glance.

Because it reminds him of Michelle and the life Eggsy must have had before.

And how much Merlin wishes they met under different circumstances.

He moves past the living room, towards his home office, where images of Eggsy with his wrinkled features and slick bottom lip follow. Admiring his physical attributes—the square set of his jaw, how mossy his eyes are, the way his smile lights up his entire face—isn’t a difficult thing for Merlin to do.

The lad is bloody stunning, end of story.

Michelle would probably have his bollocks if she knew that Merlin was attracted to her son seeing how she was nearly a decade younger than him. The sad thing is he wouldn’t have blamed her, but having spent nearly two months in Eggsy’s company or thinking about him, Merlin doesn’t care. If their conversation about whether or not Merlin shagged Michelle Unwin and the not-so-careful glances Eggsy has been stealing when he thinks Merlin isn’t looking is any indication, neither does Eggsy.

Time and time again, he’s wondered what it would be like to have that lush, plump mouth pressed up against his and what Eggsy would taste like on his tongue. How his hands have itched to soothe away the furrow between Eggsy’s eyebrows and grab him by the waist whenever he’s breezed by Merlin. How much Merlin just wants to _touch_ him, make him laugh, and smile so openly that the room brightens.

He sets his mug down next to his mobile, which chirps back at him. Merlin taps the screen and rolls his eyes when he finds Harry’s name on the missed call notification. “Like a lost dog,” he grumbles as he goes to ring him back. The second Harry picks up, Merlin snaps, “You are the equivalent of a needy partner, do you know that? Has _anyone_ ever told you?”

“And hello to you, too,” his friend deadpans. “I was merely checking in—”

“The word is _nagging_ , Henry.”

Harry ignores him. “On how your research has been going,” he says. “And if you’re crawling up the walls from babysitting.”

“Oi, don’t be like that,” Merlin protests. “Being in Eggsy’s company is _far more_ relaxing that handling you tits at the mansion. To answer your question, my research has been going. What about you? Gotten anything done?”

“I’ve gotten plenty done, thank you very much,” Harry says, affronted.

He loves it when he’s managed to needle Harry and smirks. “Oh really? What then? Did you find the needle in this godawful haystack, hrm?” Merlin asks.

“Nothing concrete,” Harry answers tersely.

“You mean nothing at all?”

Harry sighs, filling Merlin’s ear with the crackling of air hitting the receiver. “Must you always doubt me so, Hamish?”

“Aye, always!” Merlin rolls his eyes as he takes a seat at his desk. “Have we met, you daft cow?”

“How is the boy? Keeping out of trouble?” Harry asks, changing the subject to something other than a long list of his shortcomings.

Merlin runs his finger over the rim of the mug. “You seem to think that Mr. Unwin is going to send my house into disarray,” he complains. “I’ll have you know that he’s been a model guest.”

“Surprising, seeing that he tried to steal one of our vehicles from the garage,” Harry mumbles.

“This again,” Merlin groans, rubbing his palm over his face. “When will you let _that_ go? This year, sometime? Before I die, perhaps?”

Knuckles rapping on the door frame take his attention away from whatever pitiful excuse Harry might have for his behavior. Turning in his chair, Merlin finds Eggsy standing with the laptop in hand. The lad winces upon seeing the mobile pressed into Merlin’s cheek. “Sorry,” he mouths.

“It’s just Harry,” Merlin assures as he gestures for Eggsy to come in.

“What?” Harry asks. “What about me?”

Merlin makes a face. “Other than being an arsehole, nothing. I’ll phone you later,” he says before hanging up and sighing with relief.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Eggsy tells him, stepping closer.

“But I am glad you did,” Merlin says. He sets the mobile facedown and pushes it towards a framed photograph of his parents. “One can only take so much of Harry Hart.”

Eggsy chuckles. “Best in small doses, yeah?”

“Or with a lot of alcohol consumption,” Merlin adds. “Did you need something?”

The lad shrugs as he places the laptop in front of Merlin. “I noticed something strange in Valentine’s autopsy. It might be nothing, but I figured I might as well show you,” Eggsy explains as he pulls up the file and taps his fingers against the cursor pad until stopping. “A marking on the right forearm.”

Merlin leans in to read. He’s been over the autopsy several times, mostly to see if the killer left a calling card on the body. “Identifying feature over right radius bone, circle caused by scarification. Marking includes eighteen karat gold overlay.” Merlin glances at Eggsy. “A golden circle?”

“Fucking weird, right?” Eggsy says as he reaches over and clicks to another page of the document. “Who does that shit? Unless if this bloke was a big Harry Potter fan and fancied himself Lord Voldemort.” He points to the screen. “Coroner took a picture of it.”

Richmond Valentine’s lifeless limb dominates the photograph. Defensive wounds mar his forearm, which has clearly been cleaned up during the autopsy. A small circle lies embedded into Valentine’s skin, light reflecting off the gold. It’s no more than two centimeters in diameter; the marking could be easily overlooked and is undoubtedly a very interesting body modification to want.

“I just thought you might want to see it,” Eggsy mentions. “In case if it helps any.”

“You’re correct,” Merlin says as he forwards the image to Harry with a quick note. “I’m not sure what it means, but thank you.” He hits send and turns back to Eggsy, noticing that he’s practically on top of him. Well, standing on top of him.

In the soft amber light of his office, Merlin finds himself struck utterly blind by how fucking beautiful Eggsy is. How his skin glows and his eyes seem even more green than Merlin realized and when Eggsy tilts in his head, then smirks. A dimple forms at the corner of his mouth, only adding to the lad’s charm. He feels the press of Eggsy’s pinkie finger against his own, moving slowly from tip to knuckle.

It’s normal to brush up against someone, whether it be passing a file to a colleague or reaching over a person standing in front of the queue to grab his Starbucks order. All of those things are completely insignificant compared to Eggsy’s skin touching his.

This gesture, however, is as intimate as a kiss.

“You’re welcome,” Eggsy replies, huskily. His tongue flicks out, wetting his pink lips and all Merlin can do is think about how they would feel slotted against his own. He moves closer until Merlin’s legs bracket his thighs and Merlin’s hands twitch in pure want just to tug on Eggsy’s hips.

Then Merlin thinks of those men and what they did to Eggsy; how they violated him so grievously. As much as he wants the lad—and he _does_ , so terribly—he can’t bring himself to make the first move. If there will be a change in their relationship, it must be Eggsy’s doing.

Eggsy must see it written on his face. “What are we doing?” he asks, nudging Merlin’s thigh with his knee.

“I don’t know,” Merlin answers, staring at where their bodies meet. His thumb runs over the material of Eggsy’s trousers as he looks up and asks, “What _are_ we doing?” Eggsy’s knee shifts into his palm and _fuck_ , he wants to spread him out on the desk and _have_ him.

“I’m not sure what _you’re_ doing, but I’m thinking about snogging you,” Eggsy admits.

Merlin grins up at him. “Perhaps you should.”

“Perhaps I should,” Eggsy echoes as his fingers catch Merlin’s chin, tilting it. Under heavily hooded lids, the green of his eyes radiate desire as their lips find each other.

He groans into it, eyes closed and body shock still, as the delicate press of Eggsy’s mouth against his own fills Merlin with pure want. His hands run up the lad’s trousers where they find belt loops. Merlin tugs on them, bringing Eggsy into his sphere until he’s all but leaning against him.

Merlin seeks out other parts of Eggsy’s body and dips his fingers under the hem of his jumper to touch the warm skin underneath. His back muscles roll beneath his hands, joined by the soft, obliging sound Eggsy makes as he parts his lips and seeks out the inside of Merlin’s mouth. Their tongues curl against each other, exploring and searching and pushing boundaries and it’s _fucking_ perfect.

Everything about Eggsy puts Merlin in awe; from the way he crawls into his lap and chuckles into his mouth as they almost overbalance to how the lad traces over his jawline as if Merlin was a precious relic. How their chests meet as they breathe and begin kissing with intent. How Eggsy pulls back to stare at Merlin and removes his jumper to reveal his bare torso. How he allows Merlin to look upon and touch him, murmuring his name when he kisses the still-pink, jagged scar on his forearm.

His skin pebbles under Merlin’s lips, which he chases all the way up Eggsy’s neck, his jaw and, finally, his mouth. Merlin runs his thumb over the reddened flesh, moving it back and forth while Eggsy watches. He doesn’t want to push too hard and break this fragile moment between them, but _dammit_ he wants Eggsy like nothing he’s ever experienced.

He wants Eggsy folded under him with his cock buried inside of him, to watch Eggsy riding him with his head thrown back in ecstasy, to have him give his body freely.

Eggsy catches him by the wrist and looks imploringly into his eyes. He nuzzles Merlin’s cheek, dragging his lips over the flushed skin and creating an invisible brand upon it. He makes a sound is something between a whimper and a groan; he’s so aroused that he doesn’t really know or care. “Eggsy,” Merlin intones, pulling back to admire the masterpiece in front of him. “Are you certain?”

Green eyes nearly swallowed whole by their pupils glitter back at him under the dim light, filled with all the desire Merlin feels in his own body. Christ, Eggsy’s beautiful like this; too beautiful.

“I want _this_ ,” Eggsy says through lips swollen from kisses. “I want _you_.”

Merlin doesn’t wait for the word _please_ to form on Eggsy’s tongue when he crashes back into him. Their hands frantically remove their clothes, tossing them in every direction without a single care to where they land. Merlin twines his fingers into Eggsy’s hair and needy, _wonderful_ sound tumbles between them. He pulls Merlin closer, gasping wantonly and Merlin decides he can’t wait any longer.

He wraps his arms under Eggsy’s arse and stands, groaning as the lad’s legs tighten around his waist. Merlin walks them towards the couch on the other side of the room, returning Eggsy’s kisses with fervor. They’re only clad in their underwear now, their erections rocking tantalizingly against each other. Merlin needs to feel the thick length hidden in Eggsy’s y-fronts, needs to touch it with his hands and mouth.

“Merlin,” Eggsy whimpers as they fall onto the couch. He lies under Merlin, ripe for the taking as his hips stutter forward, not-so-subtly begging for more.

Merlin hooks his fingers around the band of the lad’s underwear, yanking them down a pair of strong, lean legs and over Eggsy’s ankles before tossing them onto the floor. He drinks in the sight of Eggsy, skin flushed with arousal and the thick, hard cock peeking out from the rosy bloom of foreskin set on top of bollocks made for sucking on. Merlin gently eases it down, exposing the rest of him while his mouth waters at the slick cockhead.

He runs his thumb over Eggsy’s slit, spreading precum over the area while more dribbles out and Eggsy is bucking his hips with a ragged cry and _oh god_ , Merlin wants him so badly. “You are something else,” Merlin whispers. He gives Eggsy’s cock a stroke and grins as Eggsy whines, unabashed and lovely.

“And you’re overdressed, bruv,” the lad rasps, hands pushing at Merlin’s underwear to inch them down his hips.

“So I am,” Merlin agrees as he joins Eggsy in his efforts and catches him by his lovely mouth just to plunder it again. They kiss until they’re panting and breathless, until Merlin can’t take it anymore and pulls Eggsy by the ankles. Hooking them over his hips, he aligns their cocks and groans at the touch of them together. It aches in the best way, burning so brightly that Merlin sees white for a moment and realizes that this encounter won’t last very long.

And he can’t be arsed to care.

He wants Eggsy; wants to feel him trembling under his body and whimpering his name. Merlin rocks his hips up, groaning at the slide of their lengths against each other. “Eggsy,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

“Oh fuck!” Eggsy cries, digging his fingers into Merlin’s biceps as he meets his thrusts.

Pressing hard earns a choked off cry and Eggsy’s ankles locked around the small of Merlin’s back. When Merlin opens his eyes, he finds a glorious image of the lad; skin slick and flushed, rosy nipples hard, precum spilling onto his stomach, and it’s all for _him_.

Clutching onto each other, they rock faster, harder. For all Merlin wants this encounter to be slow and gentle, neither of them can manage it. They’re so desperate and hungry for release, for the touch of naked, sweat-slick skin, and the dizziness that follows.

His pulse roars in his ears when Eggsy kisses him again, licking his way into Merlin’s mouth and claiming it. He groans, fighting the urgent need to cum because he wants Eggsy there first. Merlin wants to be able to pull back at the very moment Eggsy loses himself to pleasure before his own arrives. He wants to be the one who gives back what those vile men took away and hold it safe for the lad.

Most of all, Merlin wants to protect him and adore him and have this always. The very thought pushes Merlin to the brink of orgasm and he cums with a strangled, wordless shout. He grinds himself against Eggsy’s length as thick ropes of cum dribbles between their bodies until he’s left trembling and spinning.

Eggsy follows him over the cusp into a pleasure filled delirium, crying out Merlin’s name like a prayer.

 

* * *

 

Rottweiler hates waiting, that’s for certain.

He’s already gone through three fags from a nearly empty carton waiting on this wanker and it’s cold enough to freeze his bollocks off. Plus, there’s only so many times someone can watch smoke dissolve into thin air.

But he does it anyway because he remembers what that Poppy bird told him about his dog. Honestly, she scares the right fuck out of him; her and that Charlie fellow with the mechanical arm. So yeah, he had to sit tight for a few, anxiety-ridden weeks until the contact, well, contacted him, but Rottweiler’s gotten himself into some deep shit and he’ll have to handle it.

Sucking in nicotine, Rottweiler curses that bloke he had been sent to kill along with his parents. How could he have known that the little shit would manage to live? He ain’t a bloody psychic!

When Rottweiler exited the gasoline-soaked flat as he tossed a Molotov cocktail over his shoulder, he was _absolutely positive_ that the lad was out cold with his trousers around his ankles, just like they left him. The coppers would find his charred remains and that would be that, but no! That bloke somehow managed to live and God, he’s so _fucking_ fucked!

By the time he’s debating on a fourth fag, Rottweiler notices a shadowy figure out the corner of his eye. They come at him from across the street, face hidden by a hooded jacket like they’re a fucking phantom or something. As they draw closer, Rottweiler is surprised by their height. They’re a lot smaller than he pictured, but then again, he’s been expecting the worst ever since his meeting with Poppy.

“Got a fag?” the stranger asks, to which Rottweiler nods and hands one over. The contact has their own lighter and uses it, illuminating the lower half of their smooth face.

Rottweiler clears his throat. “Are you with… _her_?” They roll up their sleeve, revealing a small golden circle on their forearm in reply. “So what next, then?”

“I’ll take care of the Unwin boy,” the stranger tells him. “You have been tasked with keeping his handler occupied.”

“Handler?”

The stranger reaches into their jacket and pulls out a USB drive. “Information’s on here. Memorize it, then destroy the drive.”

“Then what?”

“Then distract him,” the stranger says, sounding annoyed. “By any means necessary.” They stub the half-smoked fag against the brick wall they lean on. “I’ll contact you with the date and time.”

Rottweiler watches the fag fall from the stranger’s fingers and scowls. It’s a bloody waste! “And until then I study like I’m in school or summat?”

“Not for me to say,” they reply, clapping Rottweiler on the shoulder. “But I will offer this advice; don’t fuck up again or _else_.”

A shiver runs along the length of Rottweiler’s spine as a sinking feeling pulls at his stomach. He doesn’t speak another word as the stranger sulks off and disappears from sight.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy wakes to the scent of Earl Grey tea and cologne.

Which isn’t entirely unsurprising seeing how he’s in Merlin’s bedroom. Sure, there are faint traces of it around the flat, but it’s stronger in here and on the sheets covering his naked body. Eggsy rolls over to bury his face into Merlin’s previously occupied pillow, inhaling deeply and sighing happily as he breathes out.

As for as morning-afters, this one isn’t so bad. It would be better if Merlin was lying beside him, but he suspects he had some Kingsman business to attend to. Whatever it was, it’s done now as he seems to be puttering around the flat. There’s a vague recollection of Merlin’s warm, calloused hand rubbing slow circles on his back as he whispered something to him and kissed his temple before the mattress shifted and Eggsy fell back asleep.

He slumps down, stretching against the headboard and pointing his toes, listening to cartilage popping before Eggsy decides to sit up. It’s nearly half ten and he should probably get up, get showered, and get dressed so he can join Merlin.

Maybe drag him back to bed for a repeat of last night, which was _fucking aces_.

The hasty frottage took enough of the edge off for them to take it slow once they made to the bedroom, which wasn’t _that_ slow. If Eggsy’s being honest, it only did away with the pre-sex jitters; those were most definitely gone judging by the way Merlin folded him in half and fucked the living daylights out of him.

Not that Eggsy’s complaining; he’s definitely _not_ complaining at all! Especially since Merlin managed to chase him through one orgasm into another and finally a third, turning Eggsy into a fucked out puddle of sweaty skin and sated limbs by the time he found his own release.

He’s certainly not going to forget the thick drag of Merlin’s cock in his arse and that said cock gave him multiple orgasms, which Eggsy didn’t think was even possible. And if Merlin felt smug afterward, Eggsy can’t blame him. It was fucking wicked!

“We should shower,” Merlin suggested later on as they basked in the afterglow. His knuckles rubbed against Eggsy’s side where he held him close.

Eggsy made a sound of agreement, not really fancying waking up with dried cum on his stomach and between his thighs. He lifted his head off Merlin’s shoulder and groaned at the effort. “And then what?” he asked.

“Then we come back in here and sleep,” the other man told him, leaning forward to kiss the tip of Eggsy’s nose.

Which is precisely what they did. It was nice drifting off to the steady sound of Merlin’s breathing with a brawny arm draped over his waist; it made him feel safer than he had in two months.

He gets out of bed and walks starkers to the guest room where his things are. Eggsy can’t be arsed to figure out where the clothes from yesterday ended up—probably behind some piece of immovable furniture with his luck—and decides on what to wear before venturing to the bathroom.

Once he’s showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth, Eggsy is joined by Merlin, who opens the door and lets some steam out as he’s putting the cap back on his deodorant. “Morning,” he greets, drinking in the sight of Merlin in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans.

“Almost afternoon,” he says, leaning in the doorway. He smiles at him in the mirror; a languid, easy thing that curls the corners of his mouth and lifts them. Merlin’s pretty remarkable like this and Eggsy is quite pleased with himself that he gets to see it. “Here I thought I would have to wake you with a meal in bed.”

Eggsy chuckles. “You _can_ still do that.”

“Hm,” Merlin replies as his eyes roaming down the length of Eggsy’s underwear-clad body. “Perhaps brunch wouldn’t be out of the question?”

“Only if there’s bacon,” Eggsy replies with a grin, then laughing as Merlin rolls his eyes.

He huffs, waving a hand in the lad’s direction. “Of course there’s bacon,” Merlin tells him. “I’ll meet you at the front door in ten minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Brunch is a cozy affair at a place that’s several blocks from the flat.

They seclude themselves in a corner booth away from the main entrance and talk quietly over their meal as their legs bump into each other under the table. Merlin asks him about his studies at university while Eggsy laughs his arse off as Merlin retells childhood misadventures featuring Harry. Honestly, it sheds a whole new light on the bloke who happens not to be that much of a prick after all.

“When did the silver spoon get wedged up his arse?” Eggsy asks as he picks at bacon crumbles.

Merlin snorts into his tea. “I reckon since birth, but possibly even before that. Honestly, I’ve never met such an uptight five-year-old in all my life.”

“So that much hasn’t changed, yeah?” he teases, reaching across the table to run his fingers over the exposed skin of Merlin’s wrist. If he were closer, Eggsy would bring it to his lips just to feel the steady thump of his lover’s pulse.

“It’s gotten better, if you can believe it,” Merlin says. He moves, lacing their hands together with a grin. The other man’s palms are calloused and warm; just thinking about them on his body sends a shiver down Eggsy’s spine. Merlin must know what it does to him, though he doesn’t say anything. “Where to after this?”

Eggsy shrugs. “I was hoping you’d tell me.” He’s being suggestive and doesn’t care how blatant is it. Honestly, he’d like to spend the whole day in bed just to discover what else Merlin likes. Maybe watch the telly when they aren’t having sex—and trust him, they _are_ going to having more sex—or cook him a meal as a way of saying thank you for letting Eggsy crash with him.

“The plans I have involve more lube,” Merlin whispers, leaning closer.

“ _Yes_ , Merlin!” Eggsy whimpers. “And we’ll need food. I plan on making you dinner.”

Merlin chuckles. “You cook?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says. “Excellent culinary skills and no gag reflex.” If the heat in Merlin’s eyes is anything to go by, Eggsy reckons his lover would like to put both of these statements to the test.

Which is how they end up at the nearest Tesco, roaming the aisles for the ingredients Eggsy will need to cook them dinner. It’s nice to walk around the store hand-in-hand as if they were just an ordinary couple out doing the weekend shopping. Eggsy knows it’s the furthest thing from reality since Merlin isn’t his boyfriend and happens to be a quartermaster for a very secret agency while he’s in some sort of posh witness protection with sex as an added bonus.

“I’m going to pick up some other supplies,” Merlin whispers in his ear as Eggsy mulls over some produce. “Will you be alright on your own for a minute or two?”

Eggsy nods, trying not to get distracted by the other man’s hands on his waist. “Yeah bruv,” he says, turning to catch a gentle, chaste peck on the lips. “Don’t be too long, though. I might end up buying the entire store!” He listens to Merlin’s laughter as he disappears around the corner.

As he picks up a stock of basil for inspection, Eggsy wonders if Merlin would prefer marinara or pesto sauce. He thought about making curry from scratch, but he hadn’t been all that impressed with the chili peppers or cilantro. He remembers how his mum and Dean would tease him about being a food snob (which he supposes isn’t a lie) and what they’d make of this. Of him and Merlin, of him standing in the middle of Tesco with a basket so he could make Merlin dinner.

“Fuckin’ outrageous,” a man grumbles.

It seems that he’s been joined by a lanky, skittish bloke. The way his beady eyes dart around reminds Eggsy of a small dog—the ones that shake a lot. Without another word, he goes back to investigating the basil before deciding on several stocks that will meet his needs.

“Bit much for plants, I reckon,” the man says, offering a crooked, stained toothed grin. “What do you do with it anyway?”

He shrugs. “Seasonings,” Eggsy replies, offering a friendly smile. “Sauces if you fancy that.”

“I’d rather get my sauces from the jar, you feel me? Too impatient for that cookin’ nonsense,” the stranger chuckles. “Besides, I burn boilin’ water.”

Eggsy smirks and thinks that’s not all this bloke burns. If he were a betting man, he’d say this chap prefers cheap beer, greasy pub food, and fags to standing over a stove and cooking himself dinner. “It just takes practice.”

“Now you sound like me mum,” the other man says. Wrinkling his nose, he tosses a stock of basil back on the pile and shrugs. “Glad she ain’t here to see this.”

_Laughter over his screams and the sight of his mum’s dead eyes. Rough hands pinning him to the bed, shoving his jeans and underwear down his thighs. “Bet you’re glad she ain’t here to see this,” one of them says._

His fingers tighten around the basket handle while blood rushes from his face. Blinking at the stranger, Eggsy asks in a trembling voice, “Excuse me?”

Because he knows _that_ voice; he’ll never be able to forget it for as long as he lives. It’s forever ingrained in his memory and hearing it again is like being slapped.

“Was just sayin’ I’m glad me mum ain’t here to see this,” the other man replies. He looks up with a grin that fades into a frown. “You alright, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Nausea surges, burning its way up his throat and down again when Eggsy swallows. “Yeah. M’fine,” he says, backing away and stumbling over his feet. “Just remembered something is all.” He spins around, rushing off to find Merlin and nearly collides into him.

“Oi, you’re in a hurry,” Merlin chuckles as he grips Eggsy by the shoulders. One look at his face and Merlin’s expression becomes serious. “Eggsy? What is it?”

Shaking in terror, Eggsy tries to answer, but no sound will come out. He lets Merlin take the basket from his grip, exchanging it for the front of his lover’s jacket. Bunching the fabric under his hands, Eggsy moves into Merlin’s sphere and tries to remember to breathe.

“Eggsy?” Merlin asks as he holds Eggsy close.

Hot tears pool in his eyes and fall down his cheeks as the stranger’s voice replays itself over and over. “Get me out of here,” Eggsy finally manages to stammer. “Take me home.”


	6. Chapter 6

_“What is the mark’s status?” Michelle asked over the comms._

_With a quick glance to another monitor, Merlin deemed Richmond Valentine several kilometers away from where he’s having dinner with a few of his associates. Percival and Harry were his eyes on the ground as they pretended to enjoy a meal several tables away; he heard the rumblings of the latter’s complaints in regards to the salmon being too dry. “Still where we left him,” he assured._

_“Honestly, you’d think he would have chosen an establishment with a better chef,” Harry grumbled._

_“Money does not equal taste, Galahad,” Michelle replied distractedly. She was busy monitoring the encryption cracker program’s progress. “Take Mr. Pickle for instance. You had him stuffed when he died and now he’s in your downstairs loo so he can watch you take a shit in the morning.”_

_Merlin coughed to disguise his snort of laughter, while Percival wasn’t so lucky. “Igraine,” Harry said testily. “How many times must I tell you that it is a memorial to a loyal friend, unlike some other bald, daft cow listening in?”_

_“Aye, I told you it was a piss poor idea, but you didn’t want to listen,” Merlin fired back. “You’re a stubborn, melodramatic drama queen!”_

_Michelle giggled. “I daresay he’s been called worse.”_

_Percival wheezed into the microphone while Harry hissed, “This is a character assassination!”_

_“You would have to have character to begin with,” Merlin told him, knowing he can get away with such things and he’s probably the only one of this motley crew of Kingsman agents who can._

_“Now, gentlemen,” Michelle chimed in, her voice both sharp and motherly. The type of tone Merlin imagined her using on her son when he needed a dose of reality. “Do I really need to tell you to behave?”_

_Merlin switched to another monitor to view her progress on Valentine’s computer drive. They’re nearly there and in moments, the program will be downloading everything on the blasted machine. Plans, business transactions, emails, bank accounts, the passcode to his mobile—Kingsman will have every bit of information to ruin Richmond Valentine’s plans._

_All while Michelle Unwin boards one of their jets and heads back the UK for debriefing._

_“How are we on time?” she asked._

_“Ahead of schedule,” Merlin told her. “An extra five minutes, though I’m wondering if you’ll need it.”_

_Michelle made a sound of agreement. “Any updates on the mark’s status?”_

_“It seems he is failing at entertaining his guests,” Harry deadpanned._

_“At least he’s entertaining himself,” Percival said._

_The program beeped, indicating its success. Merlin glanced at another monitor while everything on the computer flashes up on screen as it downloads. “Igraine, good work,” he said. “Now get out of there; I’ll handle the rest.”_

_“Acknowledged,” Michelle replied._

_“Galahad and Percival, keep your eyes on Valentine,” Merlin ordered. “I’ll let you know when Igraine has left the compound and is en route to the rendezvous point.”_

He watches Eggsy from afar, going over Michelle’s final mission in his head, wondering what he missed. What they all missed.

Merlin’s scanned the footage from the glasses, combing over each piece until he’s practically memorized it. Even after Eggsy’s discovery of the golden circle embedded into Valentine’s forearm, Merlin has nothing to show for it.

Just a bunch of missing pieces and even more questions. Perhaps he should allow Eggsy to look at the footage, because he is a fresh set of eyes, after all. A familiar face could be hidden in plain sight and, despite what Harry might say, the lad is resourceful.

It could even take Eggsy’s mind off of the incident at the market. For someone who has proven themselves to be more level-headed than most would be in his situation, Eggsy had been bloody well shaken. He could hardly speak as Merlin called for a nearby Kingsman cab and ushered him back to the flat.

Once they were behind a locked door, Eggsy broke down. Merlin held him as Eggsy sobbed into his chest, fingers twisting themselves into the material of his sweater. Having no idea what provoked such an outburst, Merlin wondered if the night before had been too much, too soon. Then Eggsy told him. How he encountered a man at the market and how he repeated the very words snarled into his ear. Eggsy was absolutely positive that the wiry stranger was one of the people in his flat that night. He had been one of the horrible men who raped him before leaving him for dead. Eggsy knew it in his marrow.

And Merlin phoned Harry.

A knock at the front door interrupts his thoughts and leaves Merlin wondering why he even bothered giving Harry a key when he _never bloody_ uses it. He lets his friend in, frowning all the while, which Harry pointedly ignores.

“How is he?” Harry asks as he shakes off his coat and goes to hang it in the closet.

A television program fills the flat with white noise, wafting from the living room where Merlin left Eggsy to answer the buzzer. He can’t say that Eggsy is doing well, but it’s a vast improvement. “I offered him a mild sedative,” Merlin explains in a quiet voice, motioning for Harry to follow. “And he took it.”

Harry raises a brow in surprise but says nothing.

Honestly, Merlin had felt the same way. Eggsy had been shaking so that he had to do something as they stood in the bathroom—Eggsy hunched over the sink while Merlin pressed a damp washcloth over his flushed cheeks and neck—when he whispered, “Do you want something?”

Eggsy’s teary-eyed reflection stared back at Merlin and nodded, accepting the pill, then swallowing it dry. They sat side-by-side on the couch afterward and waited for the worst of the lad’s panic to dissipate.

“Did he give a description?” Harry asks as he and Merlin watch Eggsy from afar.

He nods. “A vivid one,” Merlin replies, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m already running it through the databases to see if we can find a match.” He had only been gone for less than five minutes. What happened after was certainly eventful in a way that he hadn’t expected, including pinching KY from the market. Having been more preoccupied with Eggsy, Merlin had forgotten about the blasted thing until he found it in the pocket of his jacket.

“That’s good,” Harry assures, patting Merlin’s shoulder. “Perhaps this is the break we needed.”

“But at Eggsy’s expense,” Merlin says unhappily.

They glance at each other, then back to Eggsy.

Shock and fear aren’t looks he wears well; the heavy downturn of his mouth weighs on his entire face. Merlin remembers it when Eggsy was recovering the medical ward and caught unaware because he was too deep in thought. He reckons the lad was wondering what would become of him or even how this happened.

Even then, Merlin loathed seeing it and wished he could do more.

Now that their relationship’s changed, perhaps…

Well, he doesn’t want to push it; not tonight anyway. Like Merlin’s always done, he’ll let Eggsy set the pace.

“Do you think it would go amiss if I spoke with him?” Harry asks.

“Only if you don’t wind him up,” Merlin warns. He sees Harry open his mouth to argue and goes on the defensive. “I’m serious, Harry! If Eggsy’s speaking tongues when you leave this flat, I’ll make certain you’re assigned to Gawain. He’s going through a pyromania phase again; I’m sure you’ll _love_ that!”

Harry’s lips form a thin, pinched line. “You play dirty, Hamish.”

“Aye, I know,” Merlin replies. “Come on; let’s get this over with.”

Leading Harry into the living room, Merlin notices how Eggsy barely acknowledges their presence. His eyes are glued to the television, though he doubts Eggsy is paying much attention to the program. Merlin takes a seat next to him while Harry makes himself comfortable in the armchair. A few moments pass of awkward silence before Merlin reaches for Eggsy’s knee and gives it a squeeze. “Eggsy?”

A pair of green eyes blinks before turning to him. “Yeah?” he asks sedately.

“Harry’s here,” Merlin tells him, gesturing in his friend’s direction. Eggsy’s stare follows. “He was wondering if you would be up to talking.”

“But if you’d rather wait, that is perfectly fine,” Harry adds, offering a friendly smile. “I understand that you’ve had an emotionally taxing day.”

Eggsy nods. “I saw one of the men who…” He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows, the column of his throat bobbing with movement. “I _know_  he was one of _them_.”

“That must have been frightening,” Harry comments.

“That’s one word for it, yeah,” Eggsy replies, blinking.

Merlin notices how Eggsy begins picking at his cuticles out of nervous habit, anything to keep himself occupied. He wants to lace their fingers together and give his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. With Harry being here, it would be a terrible idea. Merlin can only imagine how his friend would react to knowing that he and Eggsy slept together; not because of the age difference or because he’s a man, but because he’s a former colleague’s son and a witness to their murder.

There are so many grey areas in what he and Eggsy have done, but Merlin can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Was there any indication that he may have recognized you?” Harry inquires as he leans forward in the chair.

Eggsy glances between them and shakes his head. “I don’t think so. He did give me a funny look after he repeated what he said that night. Said I looked like I saw a ghost.”

“I am terribly sorry that you had to experience it again,” Harry tells him in a sincere tone. Like any rational human being, he had reacted to Eggsy’s sexual assault with a mixture of disgust and sympathy. “Perhaps you might like to shoot this fellow when we bring him in?”

The lad snorts, shaking his head. “Thanks, but no thanks,” Eggsy says with a wan smile. “I’ll let the professionals handle him, if you don’t mind.”

“I thought I’d extend the offer,” Harry replies, meeting his smile. He glances at the television screen, then back to Eggsy. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer. I hope tomorrow is better for you, Eggsy.”

He shrugs, following Harry and Merlin’s movements as they stand up. “Thanks, bruv.”

Merlin feels Eggsy’s stare all the way to the front door, where he hands Harry his coat. “I’ll let you know what the database turns up.”

“Very well. And the boy,” Harry says, gesturing in Eggsy’s direction. “Keep an eye on him. I suspect he’s trying to compartmentalize.”

“Well aren’t you bloody Freud?” Merlin retorts.

Harry places a hand on his bicep. “Hamish, I’m serious.” He moves closer, ensuring that the other occupant won’t be able to eavesdrop. “Anyone with a pair of eyes, including someone as emotionally constipated as _me_ , can see that he’s reeling.”

“Aye, and you think I don’t already know that?” Merlin grouses.

Harry claps his shoulder and steps away to reach for the doorknob. “Consider it a gentle reminder.”

“I’ll show you a gentle reminder when I shove my boot up your arse.” Merlin waves him off. “Go play with your butterflies. I’ll phone you if the database yields something helpful.” He watches Harry leave, shutting the door behind him and using his _bloody key_ to lock it. Rolling his eyes, Merlin ventures back to the living room where he left Eggsy.

He turns at the sound of Merlin’s approaching footsteps. “Is Harry gone, then?” Eggsy asks as Merlin sits next to him.

“Yes,” he answers. “Unless if you’d like me to call him back.” He smirks and nudges Eggsy with his shoulder; it results in a soft chuckle and the beginnings of a smile. “What do you need?”

Eggsy shrugs as he falls against the couch. “Besides amnesia?” He shifts, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “I’m not sure, really,” he says while Merlin leans back as well. Merlin feels Eggsy’s eyes on him as they roam over his profile. “I wish they had a guidebook for shit like this. What to do when you run into your attacker at the Tesco.”

“Five things to do when the world is trying to kill you,” Merlin adds, turning his head and winking.

“Tips for how to not go mental when your mum turns out to be a secret agent,” Eggsy replies with a grin. He scoots closer, their thighs brushing against each other as he crowds Merlin into the back of the couch. “Best ways to avoid super spies,” he whispers with a tilt of his head. The light catches in his eyes, turning them to the brightest jade.

Merlin snorts, unable to stop watching, unable to stop his hands from clutching Eggsy’s hips when he throws one leg over Merlin’s lap. “You don’t mean that,” he says.

“Nah, I don’t,” Eggsy tells him and leans closer, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin of Merlin’s neck.

Merlin’s eyes flutter shut as a groan escapes his parted lips. He feels Eggsy’s tongue darting out, creating a wet trail from the base of his throat to the beginnings of his jaw. A warm chuckle vibrates through him as Eggsy slowly rolls his hips against Merlin’s to make his straining erection known. “Eggsy,” Merlin intones as eager teeth nibble on his earlobe.

“Don’t ask if I’m sure, bruv,” Eggsy says heatedly. When Merlin opens his eyes, he finds Eggsy sitting back to pull his shirt over his head.

Stomach muscles ripple under his skin; it takes every ounce of self-control for Merlin not to reach out to touch them.

Or flip them over so he can run his mouth over each peak and valley.

Eggsy drops the shirt on the floor and gets to work on Merlin’s own. Delft fingers undo buttons as he moves closer and brings their mouths together. Merlin takes control of it, slowly working Eggsy open with lips and tongue until Eggsy forgets about disrobing him and cradles Merlin’s face in both hands.

“I’m always going to ask,” Merlin whispers against Eggsy’s swollen lips. He catches the bottom one between his teeth and tugs; Eggsy whines in reply. “Every single time.”

“Aren’t you a fucking gentleman, then?” Eggsy growls as he pulls Merlin’s shirt down and off his body. With his thumb, Eggsy traces over Merlin’s collarbone. “So many manners.”

Merlin laughs. “Manners. Maketh. Man,” he teases, arching into Eggsy’s touch as his thumb travels down to a nipple. “You, on the other hand, are a minx.”

“Too bad we don’t have any more lube,” Eggsy says as he presses down and rubs like the little cheek he is. “You could carry me off to bed and teach me a lesson.”

Merlin pulls him into another bruising kiss. “It seems I may have accidentally shoplifted some,” he mentions as he wraps his arms under Eggsy’s arse and stands up, tilting him over his shoulder.

Eggsy yelps in surprise. “What do you mean you may have accidentally shoplifted some?” he demands, grabbing onto Merlin for dear life as they venture into the hallway.

“I pocketed the lube and didn’t realize until we were back here,” Merlin says.

A brief lull of silence follows until Eggsy starts cackling and smacks Merlin on his arse. “You fucking shoplifted lube, you berk!” he howls, much to Merlin’s chagrin. “That is brilliant! Are you gonna go back and apologize? Bring them a bottle of wine?”

He rolls his eyes while pushing open the door to the bedroom. “No. I am going to use it to fuck the cheek right out of you is what I’m going to do,” Merlin retorts heatedly as he walks over to the bed and ungracefully dumps Eggsy on the mattress.

Merlin’s on him soon after; hovering over Eggsy as he unbuttons his trousers and pulls them off, taking his underwear with them. Eggsy’s erection springs loose, bouncing against his stomach and pooling precum onto his skin. Lean forward, Merlin flicks his tongue out and laps the salty fluid before swallowing the entire mouthwatering length down.

“Holy _shit_!” Eggsy shouts, hips rising off the mattress only for Merlin to push them back down and hold them there. “Fuck, Merlin! Warn a bloke!”

Merlin runs his tongue along Eggsy’s cock, teasing the flared edges of his head and the vein underneath, going down, down, down until pubic hair tickles his nose. Fingers brush against his cheekbones while moans fill his ears. Eggsy curses again and drops his head back, spreading his legs open in invitation. He pulls back and presses a kiss to the inside of Eggsy’s thigh. “Let me get the lube out of the bathroom,” he whispers into the pale skin.

“Be quick about it,” Eggsy tells him, green eyes staring at him with a crooked smile. “Or I cannot be held responsible for when I pounce you.”

He nips the taut muscle. “I’ll be right back,” Merlin assures and goes to the bathroom where he’s stashed the bottle on the counter. Thank goodness he had the foresight to keep it close by or he’s certain Eggsy would yell his flat down for leaving him naked on his bed. He hurries back, finding his lover where he left him, and bends over him, kissing a trail up his thighs to his stomach and finally to his lips.

“‘Bout fucking time,” Eggsy says once they’ve parted. He looks delectable like this with red, bitten lips and a flush creeping up his naked body.

So willing and beautiful; this image makes Merlin want to ravage him.

It also makes Merlin want to protect him.

He silences Eggsy with another kiss as they fumble with the bottle of lube, uncapping it and pouring the clear fluid onto Merlin’s fingers. He suspects Eggsy is still loose from last night, though not enough for Merlin to plunge into the intoxicating heat of him.

Besides, he enjoys taking his time with his sexual partners. Especially when he takes his time with Eggsy, who is a symphony of wanton, lovely sounds.

He gasps at the sensation of Merlin’s fingertip sinking into him, his entire body going taut before relaxing. Eggsy cups the back of Merlin’s head, stroking and petting as he whispers, “Fucking amazing.”

“You are,” Merlin whispers back, stretching his lover with two fingers now. “You have no idea.”

Eggsy tilts his head, grinning. “Talking about yourself again?” He traces over Merlin’s cheekbones, his eyebrows, and down the line of his jaw as if he’s inspecting them for the first time. As if he hadn’t done it the night before while he worshipped Merlin’s body.

Merlin presses against Eggsy’s prostate and watches his spine liquefy as he arches off the bed. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are,” he intones. He thinks, _how brave you are_ , too afraid to say it aloud. It might bring Eggsy back to the market, to the night of his attack, to the moment they first met.

“You need to get in me _right now_ ,” Eggsy pants. He’s the picture of debauchery with his legs hiked up, exposing his finger-filled arsehole, and his head thrown back. “I don’t fucking care how, even if I have to pin you down to this bed and ride you… _Christ_ , Merlin!”

He licks in the junction of where Eggsy’s thigh meets his groin. “I also need to prep you properly,” Merlin reminds him, “so I don’t hurt you.” He twists his fingers and feels his lover tremble all around them.

“But driving me insane is a better idea?” Eggsy says hoarsely. He lifts his head and meets Merlin’s gaze, revealing near black eyes with a thin ring of green at the edges. “I’m prepped, bruv. Now slick up that cock and fucking fuck me!”

Merlin flexes over Eggsy’s prostate, chuckling as his lover gasps and shudders. “Someone is rather bossy this evening,” he comments as he removes his fingers from Eggsy’s arsehole and goes to unzip his trousers. He undresses, unable to keep either of them waiting any longer. Grabbing the lube, he pours some onto his cock and spreads it over the hardened length. “If the offer’s still on the table, I wouldn’t mind watching you ride me.”

“Yes, Merlin,” Eggsy whispers as he reaches for him, bringing their mouths together in a heated kiss. He nips and sucks on Merlin’s lips as they fall upon the bed, groaning as their tongues meet. They move up the mattress until Merlin’s leaning against the headboard, grasping Eggsy’s hips.

Watching Eggsy while he slowly sinks onto Merlin’s cock, breath heaving and eyelashes fluttering over the tops of his cheeks, is truly a sight. He touches the lad’s flushed skin, tracing down to his chest and back up again to cup his jaw. His fingers move to Eggsy’s lips, running the pads over the glistening flesh. Buried in the heat of Eggsy’s body, Merlin groans as his lover contracts around him.

“Please, Merlin,” he begs.

He obliges, thrusting up and fully sheathing himself inside of Eggsy. “Oh lad,” Merlin breathes, his eyelids shutting.

“You’ve got to open those eyes if you want to watch,” he chuckles.

Merlin hears him moan when his cock strikes Eggsy’s prostate and blinks to drink in the sight of his lover draped over his lap. Clutching both of Eggsy’s hips, he watches; as their skin becomes damp with sweat, as Eggsy’s length leaks precum onto Merlin’s stomach, as the cords in Eggsy’s neck strain, as a sigh passes through his lush mouth. “You have no idea how good you look,” Merlin tells him.

He leans in to wrap his tongue around a rosy nipple, working it to an even harder point as Eggsy gasps, his rhythm stuttering. Merlin urges his hips to keep going as he applies more suction onto the tender nub before repeating the process on its twin. Eggsy clutches his shoulders, moving faster and faster. He’s bouncing on Merlin’s cock, spilling on his skin, and breathing heavily in his ear.

“Oh fuck, Merlin,” Eggsy whines, throwing his head back.

The flushed hollow of his throat looks good enough to lick, so he does and feels the rumble of Eggsy’s moan under his mouth. Merlin bites down and sucks, creating a colorful bruise that only a collared shirt will conceal. He doesn’t care who sees it, if someone makes a comment, or if they put two and two together.

He gets to have Eggsy as his lover, gets to feel him against his body, gets to be buried inside of him as he takes him in hand and strokes him to orgasm. Merlin groans as Eggsy tightens around him and cums with a strangled shout. His body clenches around Merlin, rippling and spasming until Eggsy rests his head on his shoulder.

“Fuck me,” he pants. Eggsy looks at him, chuckling delightedly. “ _You’re_ something else. Do you know that?”

“If you insist,” Merlin replies as he brushes Eggsy’s sweaty hair off his forehead.

Eggsy grins mischievously. “Oh, I do!” With a deliberate roll of his hips, he says, “And I’m going to show you just how much.”

Merlin leans back, awed as Eggsy takes the lead once again. He shouldn’t be, as he’s been amazed by his lover from the very start, possibly even before then. This beautiful man has enthralled Merlin at first sight, first impish grin, first laugh; now he’s bringing Merlin to the cusp of reason with his cum splattered between them.

He buries a hand into Eggsy’s hair, nudging him closer so Merlin can pillage his mouth. He groans into the sloppy kiss, thrusting up as Eggsy rides his length. Merlin feels his bollocks growing tighter with each movement and cries out.

“That’s it,” Eggsy laughs. “That’s it, bruv. Wanna make you feel good.”

“You,” Merlin groans as he trades Eggsy’s hair for his agile hips, “are probably going to kill me.”

Eggsy makes a tsk sound, pushing himself down and taking all of Merlin inside of him. He buries his nails into the lad’s skin and pounds him, spilling his release into the tight channel with a sharp cry. Merlin feels like his entire body has been set alight as he cums; his vision whites out and his blood roars in his ears. When he comes back to himself, his face is pressed against Eggsy’s chest while Eggsy’s fingers stroke his jaw.

“You alright there?” Eggsy asks when Merlin blinks up at him, lips quirking into a grin. He tilts his head, watching Merlin intently. “Should I call Dr. Hanover?”

Merlin frowns. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he replies, lifting Eggsy just a bit so his softening length slips out of him. Both of them groan at the loss. “We should clean off,” he mentions as he runs his hands up and down Eggsy’s flanks.

“In a bit?” Eggsy suggests, resting his cheek in the hollow of Merlin’s throat.

He kisses his lover’s hairline, smiling at the happy sigh Eggsy makes. “In a bit,” he echoes.

 

* * *

 

“Is it finished?” Poppy asks over the mobile’s speaker.

They glance down at Rottweiler’s body and the neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead. “It is,” they answer while balancing the mobile between their shoulder and cheek.

After Rottweiler was recognized by the Unwin boy, Poppy informed them that this loose end needed to be taken care of. Whatever this thug was trying to do—whether it be to rattle the lad or to scope out the situation—it would only be a matter of time before his face is entered into one of Kingsman’s databases. The second they had a name, everything Poppy worked so hard to for would be in jeopardy.

Besides, killing him had been a pleasure. Rottweiler was a grotesque creature and how he got in league with Poppy was undoubtedly sheer luck.

“Very good,” she says. “You know what to do next.”

“I do,” they reply as they pocket the pistol. “Anything else?”

She clears her throat. “What about his dog?”

“What about it?”

“Bring him to a shelter,” Poppy tells him. “I would hate for anything to happen to the poor thing.”

Rolling their eyes, they nod. “Of course. I’ll be discreet,” they say before ending the call.

 

* * *

 

He’s rutting his cock against Merlin’s when the mobile on the bedside table chirps.

“Ah!” Eggsy exclaims in warning when Merlin goes to reach for the blasted thing. He gives him a pointed look before glancing down at their slick lengths. “You really going to answer that?” Eggsy arches a brow and waits.

Merlin looks like he might say it could be important and Eggsy’s already planning a retaliatory move of throwing the mobile across the room when he delivers a particularly brutal thrust up with his hips. “No,” Merlin growls over Eggsy’s whine. His brogue curls over every word coming out of his mouth and dammit if it isn’t hot. “But I _am_ going to get you to make that sound again.”

He makes good on his promise and once they’ve cummed, they lie, sated, with sweat cooling on their skin. “Oh fuck me,” Eggsy groans as he tries to lift his head off Merlin’s shoulder and decides the effort is far too much. He feels the rumble of Merlin’s laughter and grins. “Proud of yourself, yeah?”

The bed shifts as Merlin moves, propping himself on his side. He looks gorgeous in the morning light with his cheeks still flushed and eyes glowing in mischief. “A bit,” he says, smirking.

Eggsy reaches up to cup his cheek and rub his thumb over Merlin’s stubble. “You should be. It’s a wonder that we manage to leave this bed.”

“You do make it rather difficult,” Merlin replies, turning to kiss his palm. “Especially when you look like a bloody wet dream.” He drapes an arm over Eggsy’s waist and pulls him closer until they’re fitted together once more.

Tilting his head, Eggsy laughs at his lover. “Well, I’m not very sorry then.”

“As you shouldn’t,” Merlin says as his mobile goes off. With a groan, he rolls over to retrieve it and frowns when he reads the message. “It seems we are expecting company.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. A check-up with Xavier, but not for a few hours,” he grumbles, rolling back to Eggsy. He kisses his forehead. “We should clean up and put on some clothes.”

Eggsy looks at the alarm clock over Merlin’s shoulder and pouts; it’s half ten. They really _should_ get on with the rest of their day. “I ought to whisk you away to Mykonos or something,” he grouses as they get out of bed and head into the bathroom. “And shut off that mobile of yours so we can spend a week relaxing.”

“Perhaps once this is over,” Merlin says carefully. He slings an arm over Eggsy’s shoulders as he fiddles with the shower.

The words _we could go away for a while_ linger in the air, left unsaid, but heavily inferred. It’s not like Eggsy hasn’t mulled it over once or twice. Leaving England once the dust has settled and the person who upheaved his life is dead or behind bars; he ain’t picky. He certainly thought about asking Merlin to come with him, if that’s what he wanted.

He leans into Merlin and closes his eyes as steam fills the bathroom until Merlin kisses his hairline and tells it’s time to wash off. Eggsy goes willingly into the shower stall with Merlin behind him.

 

* * *

 

“What now?” Merlin grumbles as he sets down his fork to look at his mobile.

Eggsy glances up from his own plate, watching in curiosity as he reads the text message sent by one of the techs. “Something bad?” he asks, having noticed Merlin’s frown.

“Something broken,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “I’ll go when Xavier gets here. That way you won’t be left on your own.”

“Probably better off being left alone than with that old bloke,” Eggsy mumbles before shoving scrambled eggs and toast into his mouth.

Merlin’s lips twitch in amusement. “Actually, Xavier is a black belt in Krav Maga.”

“Shut up!” Eggsy looks, for lack of a better word, stunned. “Are you taking the piss?”

“I’m quite serious,” he tells his lover. “I believe he’s expert rank five if I’m not mistaken.”

Nothing is more delightful than Eggsy’s look of surprise; from his slack jaw to how his eyes widen. It makes Merlin want to forget about their conversation, about work, about everything just to take Eggsy back to bed again.

“Holy shit! That old man? He’s an expert in Krav Maga?” Eggsy drops his food on the plate, huffing out a chuckle. “I wonder why he didn’t try to put me in a headlock when I lifted his keycard.”

He’s certain that it took every iota of Hanover’s body not to do so. “Expert or not, Xavier is a pacifist at heart and it would go against his Hippocratic Oath,” Merlin says as if he’s divulging some secret. “Also, I would have had his bollocks for shoestrings.”

His last comment is met with Eggsy’s laughter as he leans over and gives Merlin a smacking kiss on the cheek, then going back to the enjoy the rest of their breakfast. As they put their plates in the dishwasher, the buzzer rings. “Do you mind getting that?” Merlin asks while he washes soapy film from his hands.

Eggsy shakes his head. “Shan’t keep the Krav Maga expert waiting,” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards the front door.

Merlin snorts. He finishes up in the kitchen to join Eggsy, as well as get his things for what will hopefully be a quick trip to HQ. As he comes closer to the entryway, he’s surprised to hear Eggsy and another young man’s voices as they chat away. Merlin finds Digby standing there with a medical bag slung over one shoulder and one of his bright trademark grins.

Before Merlin can ask, Digby says, “Sorry for the short notice, but Dr. Hanover got tied up over at the mansion and sent me in his place. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” he replies. He reaches into his coat and pulls it on. “Did you happen to send your cab back?”

“I did,” Digby tells him, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “If I had known you needed it—”

Merlin holds up his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just hail one of the regular old cabs and be on my way.” He turns to Eggsy and fights the urge to kiss him goodbye. Merlin finds it strange to be in the company of a colleague with Eggsy by his side; they’ve spent so much time together that’s only natural they’ve developed a routine.

One that includes having _bloody amazing sex_.

He does the middle buttons of his jacket and nods at the younger men. “I’ll see you soon,” he tells Eggsy, who waves him off.

“Don’t cause too much trouble now,” his lover says, grinning. “Would hate to have to listen to Harry bitch about it over tea!”

Merlin rolls his eyes as he reaches for the doorknob. “I’ll do my best,” he says and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy goes about making him and Digby a cuppa once Merlin’s gone off to HQ.

It’s a bit strange to see Digby outside of Kingsman’s medical ward, but he’s not complaining. The other man’s sunny demeanor is quite infectious and Eggsy’s absolutely certain that he could even put someone like Harry Hart in a better mood. “Must be nice to get out for a bit, yeah?” he asks as he checks the tea kettle.

“You have no idea!” Digby answers with a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong; I love my job, but sometimes the subterranean walls can get make you a bit nuts after a while. You know what I mean?”

Eggsy chuckles. “Does staring at university walls count?” He walks to the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, watching Digby as he peruses Merlin’s vinyl collection.

Digby shrugs, too preoccupied with a David Bowie album. “I suppose. What about your job?”

“Don’t have one,” Eggsy explains. Digby casts an inquisitive expression over his shoulder, causing Eggsy to shove his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. “I completed my degree not that long ago. Before then, I was in Iran with the Marines.”

The other man’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “A military bloke, then? Huh, I don’t know why I’m so surprised considering what your mum did for a living. I thought she’d want to you have an office job, nice house…all that boring nonsense.”

“She did,” Eggsy says, shifting uncomfortably at the mention of his mum. A hard lump forms in his throat, burning enough to make his eyes sting because _fuck_ , he misses her.

He misses her fretting over him and ruffling his hair as he studied for exams at the kitchen table while Dean read the paper next to him. _My boys,_ she would say and reward them with a kiss on the cheek and go back to whatever she was doing. Dean would chuckle and tell her that he loved her and Eggsy would smirk from behind his textbook.

“What was it like in Iran?” Digby asks. He has his back to Eggsy and can’t see the emotions threatening to boil over. “Hot as fuck, I bet!”

“It depends on where you are, honestly,” he says. Watching Digby outside of the medical ward is a bit strange; he’s very methodical with how he interacts with the world around him. Eggsy supposes it has to do with what he does for a living because, nurse or not, he works for a bloody spy organization. “There are deserts, yeah, but some of the places I’ve been were cold as shit or kind of like being in the Mediterranean.”

Digby’s head pops up. “Yeah?” He raises a brow. “I always thought it was just sand, sand, and more sand,” he comments, pushing up the sleeves on his jumper as the tea kettle goes off.

 

* * *

 

 

Being stuck in traffic isn’t a pleasurable experience, especially when it’s in London.

Merlin taps his fingers against the material of his slackers, watching as the cab’s ticker goes up in pounds despite them not moving a single centimeter. He chuffs at the bright red numbers as they click up again and wonders if he should have just _walked_. It certainly would be faster than sitting in this mess. “Do you see anything?” he asks the driver, who’s busying himself with reading the paper.

He grunts in reply—a definitive no. Well then…Merlin will have to take matters into his own hands.

“Do you have the sports section?”

The driver hands it over without another word, and Merlin settles in for the long haul. He can just charge the fare to Kingsman and let Chester bitch about it later. After passing another five minutes with his nose in the thick of the sports section, Merlin’s mobile goes off.

“I’m stuck in traffic,” he greets the caller without looking at the screen. Arsenal is far more interesting than anything going on at the shop, anyways.

“As much as you have my sympathies, Merlin,” Xavier says in response, “I was wondering if you activated the tracking system in our mobiles. I’ve seemed to misplace mine.”

Merlin raises a brow. “Since this morning? Did you forget that cup of coffee filled with cream and sugar that everyone pretends they never see in fear of you getting us back during vaccinations?”

“What do you mean since this morning?” he barks. “The bloody thing’s been missing since last night! I thought I brought it back home with me or left it on my desk. Margaret thinks I’m being absent-minded.”

He pauses, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest while the blood in his veins runs cold. “But you texted me this morning,” Merlin says, almost whispering. “About Eggsy’s check-up.”

“You’re mistaken,” Xavier tells him, dismissively. “Now about the tracking system…”

“Xavier,” Merlin says, cutting him off. “I’m going to need to call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for the other man’s response and leans forward towards the driver. “We need to turn around immediately!”

The driver looks at him through the rearview mirror and frowns. “Are you fuckin’ jokin’? We’re in gridlock traffic, both ways, and _you_ want _me_ to turn ‘round?”

“It’s an emergency!”

“Does it look like I can do anythin’ ‘bout that, guv?”

Merlin groans in frustration as he reaches into his jacket for his wallet and tosses too much money at the driver. “Keep the change!” he calls behind him as he opens the door and jumps out into the traffic.

Hurrying to the sidewalk, he takes off towards his apartment.

 

* * *

 

The reflection of the golden circle on the inside of Digby’s arm is so small, so unassuming that one could mistake it for a watch’s face or something outside glimmering in the sunlight.

Eggsy knows better than that; he freezes as his eyes zero in on the tattoo. He manages to stop the gasp from falling into the open as Digby prattles on about his thoughts on Iran and the Middle East. His words become muddled, indiscernible like the adults on the _Charlie Brown_ cartoons Eggsy watched as a child.

With a quick glance to his right, he notices a block of knives and while Digby is still distracted, Eggsy slowly reaches for one. He pulls out a paring knife, those sharp blade gleams under the lights of the kitchen. Merlin likes to cook, as Eggsy come to find out, and keeps his tools in perfect order.

Swallowing, Eggsy presses the flat end against his arm just in time for Digby to say his name. “Yeah?” he asks, calmly, pretending that he didn’t hear him.

“I was asking if you wanted to come in here so we could begin the checkup?” Digby repeats, smiling. “Dr. Hanover should be expecting me back soon.”

Eggsy eyes the case Digby brought with him and suspects that it doesn’t hold any medical instruments. “You know,” he says, “I’m feeling a bit peaked. Perhaps we should reschedule?”

“But I’ve already come all the way out here,” Digby points out. He raises a brow. “Are you scared of needles now?”

He shakes his head. “Just blokes with golden circles embedded in their arms,” Eggsy states, bluntly. He might as well let Digby know he’s onto him and hope for the best.

“Ah,” Digby says, his friendly expression fading. He glances down at his arm, running his fingers over the tattoo before shrugging. “You’ve found me out, then.”

“Something like that,” Eggsy sneers. He straightens his posture in the doorway. “Were you there that night?”

Digby narrows his eyes at him. “And if I was?”

“Then I won’t feel bad when I kill you.”

“That’s rich!” Digby laughs. He steps away from the sideboard housing Merlin’s vinyl collection, slowly sauntering across the living room. “I seem to remember that your mother was the one doing all the heavy fighting. All while you ran to your room like a sniveling little boy. Charlie sends his regards, by the way.”

Eggsy clutches the knife handler more tightly. “I seem to remember that you and your mates wore masks because you’re such cowards,” he snaps, watching Digby’s expression fall. “Couldn’t even face mum and I like _real_ men.” He makes a _tsk_ sound and shakes his head mockingly. “What was about that? Was it _that_ difficult to look us in the eye, hm?”

Digby’s eyes narrow as he comes closer, tilting his head when he notices Eggsy hiding something. “And what about you? Do you really think I don’t know that you have something behind the door frame? That I wouldn’t notice so you could cut me open?” He pushes his way into Eggsy’s sphere, leering at him. “That I didn’t know you were looking for it while I looked through Merlin’s vinyl collection?”

Eggsy flinches, Digby smiles.

“You aren’t as stealthy as you think,” he tells him, walking back to the couch and taking a seat. With a wave of his hand, he dares, “Come on. Show me what you’re made of.” Digby pulls off his sweater and tosses it away from him. “I’ll even give you a head start, Unwin.”

He steps away from the door frame, revealing the paring knife. Digby makes an unimpressed sound and rolls his eyes. “You won’t be feeling that way when this is shoved into your throat,” Eggsy warns.

“Will I though?” Digby asks. “I’ve had Kingsman training and you—” His eyes roam over Eggsy as if he were looking at a painting or photograph. “—tussled with some lads at university? Bar brawls? Some kickboxing classes at the gym?”

Eggsy smirks. “You aren’t good at listening,” he says. “I _was_ in the Royal Marines.”

“That’s right. So you know how to follow orders, Unwin,” Digby replies as he cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders before standing up. “You must be so _very_ proud!”

He keeps his eyes on Digby’s every move, waiting for him to strike. Eggsy doubts this other man will allow him to have a so-called head start and that’s fine; he’d much rather get down to kicking his arse before slitting his throat.

Digby lunges, cackling as Eggsy lunges back. “Aren’t you quick?”

Eggsy says nothing as they circle each other. He flips the knife around and catches it by the handle with a smirk. The other man rushes him, leaving his right side open for attack. Eggsy slices the blade against the underside of Digby’s ribs, scoring the fabric and some of the skin underneath.

Digby startles back, swearing, with his hand pressed against his side. “You stupid fuck!” he shouts as he checks the wound. It’s nothing serious, just a scratch if anything. “This is my favorite shirt!”

“Should have thought of that before wearing it to a knife fight,” Eggsy retorts.

He charges Digby, swiping at his midsection and finding his arm blocked by one of Digby’s own. Eggsy twists his body, going the opposite way. A fist collides with his side, pushing the air from his lungs long enough for Digby to sucker punch him. Gripping the knife hard, Eggsy feels his teeth gnash painfully together and blood from his tongue pool in his mouth.

Eggsy’s ready for the next strike and moves out of the way. He twists his body, taking Digby’s arm with him while the knife crops from his hand with nothing more than a momentary clatter. Eggsy folds the appendage over the other man’s back, wrenching it as hard as he can. To hear Digby cry out fills his stomach with an indescribable force.

He kicks out, buckling one of Digby’s knees, and leans too closely. Blond hair blinds him as Digby throws his head back, hitting Eggsy in the nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils falls into the corners of his mouth while Digby breaks free of his grip and kicks him in the chest, sending Eggsy backward.

Eggsy falls to the floor and shatters the coffee table with his body. Glass digs into his back, scrapes his skin when Digby grabs him by the front of his jumper to punch him. His mind clouds over with his thoughts of his mum and how she fought off their attackers with ease.

She used their own weapons against them, their own people against them as his mum cleared a path towards safety. The medallion she gave him swinging around her neck as they both dove headfirst into bloodshed and chaos.

“Take this,” she had told him when she broke the chain and gave it to him.

Eggsy blinks another hit comes and growls as he raises his hand, pushing back against Digby with all his strength. Digby slips, shouting as Eggsy punches him before shoving Digby away from him. He stands up, searching for the knife, for anything really.

Digby grabs him by the ankle and yanks, throwing off Eggsy’s balance. As he falters, Digby kicks the back of Eggsy’s knees, causing him to fall again. When he lands on all fours, broken glass crunches under him and slices into his palms. Digby’s fingers grab a fistful of his hair, retching his head back and causing his neck to scream in pain. Eggsy tucks into himself, throwing Digby off of him. He lunges at the other man and hits him, watching as skin breaks under his knuckles.

One hit, then another; each one gaining force as Eggsy thinks of Dean, his mum, and the night his life was torn apart. Eggsy realizes he could very well kill this man and feel no remorse.

Digby knees him in the stomach and laughs as Eggsy gasps for air. He rolls onto his side, trying to swallow enough air to get his lungs working again when Digby comes up behind him and presses the paring knife against his throat. “I will admit,” he rasps into Eggsy’s ear, “that you put up a good fight. I’m sure your superiors in the RM would be pleased to know it.”

Eggsy coughs as he tugs at Digby’s hand, trying to pull the blade away from him. “Fuck you,” he chokes out over the tea kettle’s whistle.

“Hm, you aren’t my type,” Digby tells him through gritted teeth. “But I did watch the fun my mates had with you, you know. Every last one of them as they used your body and left you with cum running down your legs while we set that shithole of a flat on fire. Such a shame that you didn’t die that way…it would have been amusing, don’t you agree? Your charred remains with your pants around your ankles.”

The knife kisses the tender skin of his throat, drawing little droplets of blood as Eggsy fights Digby off of him. He refuses to go out this way, taken down by some posh prick who tried to murder him once before. Eggsy elbows Digby in the stomach and flips him over his body, watching as the other man lands on the floor with a sharp crack. The paring knife flies out of his hand, skidding into the kitchen and lost under the table. Eggsy scrambles over him, trying to find a more harmful weapon other than his fists.

Digby grabs him, twisting Eggsy’s ankle and sending him to the floor. Grabbing a shard from the coffee table, Eggsy rolls over in just enough time to block one of Digby’s fists. With hands clasped together, it becomes a push and pull over the razor-sharp piece of glass.

“Bet that makes you feel like a man, doesn't it?” Eggsy snarls as he pushes against Digby. “Watching your mates rape someone because you’re all such pieces of shit. Can’t even have someone say yes because of what low lives you are.”

The other man’s face turns red. “Better off than you, I imagine,” he growls. “What would your mum say if she saw you open for the taking? Would she be so quick to save you then?”

Eggsy glares up into Digby’s blue eyes and bites his tongue as the other man laughs. He leans forward, allowing the pointed tip of the glass to touch the base of his throat. “Bet you’re glad she’s not here to see this, hm?”

A gunshot goes off.

Instinctively, Eggsy shuts his eyes as the hot spray of liquid coats the side of his face and neck. It’s blood he realizes as he blinks to find Digby’s face forever frozen in a sneer as his body rolls off of Eggsy’s, already dead and gone.

“Eggsy!” Merlin shouts as he rushes over to him and puts his gun away in the folds of his jacket. He takes stock of his injuries.

_“Take this,” his mum tells him as she breaks the chain with a tug from her own blood-splattered neck._

_So much blood. His, hers, Dean’s, the ones who assaulted their quiet flat and turned it into carnage and chaos. It’s caked in his hair, in his mum’s. It’s in his nostrils and on his clothes._

_“Go to Kingsman Tailors on Saville Row,” she says to him, kissing his forehead. “Oxfords, not brogues. Repeat it back to me!”_

_“But mum—”_

_Then he’s running through the dark and the rain, running for his life._

“Eggsy,” Merlin says more softly this time. He has his face between his hands, hazel eyes troubled by Eggsy’s silence. “Look at me, lad. We have to go; Kingsman has been compromised and neither of us is safe here. Can you walk?”

He isn’t certain if he responds, but suddenly Eggsy is on his feet and bundled into Merlin’s jacket, then being placed on the couch. He hears Merlin taking the kettle off the stove, rummaging through his belongings comes from the bedroom, and then the office before he reappears again. He has the medallion in his hand, which he shoves into his trouser pocket.

Eggsy stares at him, then Digby’s body. A halo of blood soaks into the floor and his once blond hair, now tainted crimson.

“We have to go,” Merlin repeats, pulling Eggsy to his feet.

Together, they leave.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where he finds Eggsy tucked under a flannel blanket and sprawled across the back seat.

Thankfully he’s unconscious. Eggsy’s spent the better part of this trip passed out when he isn’t staring blankly at what’s straight ahead. It’s such a strange thing to think, but anything’s better than the unresponsive look in Eggsy’s eyes.

Shock; Merlin knows it when he sees it.

He took the lead as he escorted Eggsy to a garage where he kept a Range Rover registered to a long-dead relative, located several blocks from his flat. While Merlin was tossing his glasses, mobile, and anything else that could be used to trace his location into a dumpster, he heard the sounds of retching. He rushed to Eggsy’s side as he vomited in the back alley not far from their destination, keeping him upright when his own body was unable. He left the remnants of food and bile on the concrete and hurried them away.

In the garage, he wiped the blood from Eggsy’s face, neck, and knuckles. Merlin told himself it was so they wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention, but in reality, it was to check that the majority of it didn’t belong to his lover. Aside from some superficial injuries that would bruise spectacularly, later on, Merlin’s main concern was the way Eggsy shook under his touch as if he was freezing.

There was nothing he could do about Eggsy’s condition other than make him comfortable for the journey ahead. Getting them out of London, undetected, was paramount. Merlin had a safe house in mind, and from there, he would make necessary contacts with people he could trust.

He bundled Eggsy into the backseat, gently easing him down onto the charcoal grey leather and wrapping him up in a blanket before shoving his own jacket under the lad’s head. Armed with passports under assumed names, he drove them out of London—out of the country, for that matter—and headed via the A28 to France.

Merlin’s family owns a barely used estate just outside of Nantes, deep in the heart of Loire Valley. It’s the last place anyone would look for them; only three people within Kingsman know of its existence, one of whom is dead. He remembers telling Michelle about it about a year after she joined them.

_“If something happens, if Kingsman is compromised,” he said, pausing at the very thought of it. “Go here with your family. Harry and I will follow shortly after.”_

_Michelle scrutinized him with her stare. “Why are you telling me this?”_

_He shrugs, not even certain of the reasons himself. “We play a dangerous game, Michelle. Winning it is to stay alive, but sometimes it can catch up with us. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen to you.”_

_Bonheur_ is a secluded chateau that belonged to one of his great-uncles on his mother’s side—a viscount if memory serves—who was a bit of a paranoid bastard that hated people but enjoyed his whiskey. He kept barrels upon barrels of the stuff in the cellars below, which still remain to this day. Merlin knows because he’s the only member of his family who’s visited the property in recent years and has taken a few bottles back as a parlay gift for Harry or Chester, on the rare occasion.

It’s the perfect place to give Eggsy and himself the opportunity to regroup and figure out their next move without arousing suspicion.

They pass through customs without any issues, thanks to the modified Kingsman glasses he’s placed on both himself and Eggsy. Designed to conceal their identities, the lenses show another person’s face and scramble images in security cameras. Merlin’s had Harry use them once or twice on missions just to ensure they worked, but never did he think that he would need them.

He drives through the night, only stopping in Rouen to fill the tank with gasoline before continuing on. Merlin thinks he really ought to phone Kincade, the chateau’s groundskeeper and only Scot who actually enjoys living in France, to tell them of their impending arrival, but that isn’t a chance he wants to take. Something of this magnitude should be saved for when he’s arrived and can explain the circumstances.

Besides, Kincade is retired MI6 and has contacts all over the globe; perhaps he may have heard some whisperings of people with golden circles embedded in their arms.

A few minutes after five in the morning, Merlin drives down the avenue of _Bonheur_. Rows of trees hang over the dirt road, dripping mist onto the SUV. They lead to the gates at the end where Kincade stands in his longjohns and tartan cap with a hunting rifle in hand while he puffs on his smoke pipe. Merlin isn’t even surprised. “Fucking paranoid loon,” he grumbles as he pulls up and clicks on the button to roll down the window. “Bonny morning to go pheasant hunting, aye?”

One of Kincade’s bushy grey eyebrows rise. “Aye,” he replies as he comes up to the Range Rover and takes in the sight of Merlin, whom he’s known since he was a teenager. “What brings you here? Want to pillage through the whiskey stores, you great buffoon?”

“Buffoon?” Merlin fires back, trying to keep his voice down. “Says the arsehole standing outside in his pajamas. Get in the fucking car!” Behind him, Eggsy snuffles but does not wake.

“You’ve brought company,” Kincade says as he settles on the passenger side and peeks into the back, frowning at the cuts and bruises marring Eggsy’s face. “And possibly a story to tell, hm?”

Merlin presses his foot on the gas and continues towards the chateau. “Possibly,” he says. “ _If_ you’re lucky.”

Once they situate the SUV inside of the garage, he and Kincade deal with the meager belongings Merlin managed to stow away in the trunk. It’s nothing slick; just a laptop bag housing a computer he refurbished, a microcell in case reception was poor, and two burner mobiles. Clothing and other necessities can be purchased with cash once Merlin’s settled them in.

He hands Kincade the laptop bag. “Can you get the door?” Merlin asks as he goes to fetch Eggsy from the backseat. Trying his best not to wake him, Merlin eases him out of the SUV and feels the weight of his lover’s head fall against his collarbone.

“I suppose it’s quite a tale you’ve got in store for me,” Kincade says as he lets them into the chateau, staying behind for only a moment to shut the garage doors. “I’ve got some medical supplies if you need them.”

Merlin grunts as he carries Eggsy’s dead weight in his arms. “I’ll need something to bandage his hands with,” he tells the other man. “And a few of his cuts might need stitches.”

“Aye, I can help you there. Come on; let’s get him into one of the guest rooms.”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Merlin states, earning a knowing look from Kincade.

The older man nods. “Perhaps more than _just one tale_ , then,” he murmurs as he leads Merlin towards the wing where the descendants of the Duff family stayed.

Not much has changed inside of _Bonheur_ ; the corridors still smell like worn leather and cedar, the walls still too dark for his tastes and adorned with portraits of his mother’s family, and Merlin’s certain that the runners are the ones from his childhood. Coming to the chateau has always been as if one goes back in time, save for upgrades to the electrical systems, heating, and the addition of indoor plumbing.

“Almost like you left it,” Kincade announces as he opens the door to Merlin’s room. “Anastasie changed the sheets recently; I swear that woman has eerie foresight.”

“Must be the French intuition,” Merlin deadpans. He brings Eggsy to the bed and gently sets him on the comforter, taking in his bloodstained clothes and the state of his hands.

Kincade comes up alongside him and frowns at Eggsy. “Might want to get the lad into a bath,” he suggests while setting Merlin’s bags on the floor. “And a fresh set of clothes.”

“I didn’t bring any with me,” Merlin admits, his fingers already untying the laces on Eggsy’s trainers. “There wasn’t time.”

“Left in a hurry, did you? That’s fine. I’m sure I can find something for both of you,” Kincade assures as he claps Merlin’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

With that Kincade leaves while Merlin strips Eggsy of his hopelessly ruined clothes and runs him a bath. It’s a quick affair; just long enough for Merlin to scrub the dried blood from Eggsy’s skin while the once clear water turns pink. He looks upon his lover with concern, pausing to cup Eggsy’s bruised cheek. The touch earns a groan from Eggsy, but he does not wake. With a heavy sigh, Merlin pulls the stopper out and wraps his lover in a towel.

Kincade comes back in just as Merlin carries Eggsy to the bed and lies him down. “Shock?” he questions, handing him a long-sleeved thermal.

Merlin nods but doesn’t look him in the eye. “Something like that,” he says as he begins dressing Eggsy. “He’s the son of a former agent and a witness to her murder.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Kincade says, crossing himself. “Why not bring him to HQ instead of here then?”

“Kingsman’s been compromised,” Merlin replies, lifting his stare to Kincade’s, who swears in Gaelic. “He barely escaped an assassination attempt in my own flat yesterday afternoon.” He shrugs as he slips Eggsy’s limp arm through a sleeve. “I don’t know how far the breach goes, but we weren’t safe. My apologies for dragging you…”

Kincade holds up a hand. “Say no more, laddie. Whatever I have is at your disposal,” he tells him. He looks down at Eggsy, frowning in sympathy. “Let’s take care of those hands and put him to bed.” His dark eyes travel to Merlin. “And get some food in that belly of yours before I make you rest as well. Did you drive all night?”

“I needed to get us out of the UK,” Merlin says, lamely.

“Crazy bastard,” Kincade mumbles. He reaches down for the first aid kit and opens it. “Come on, let’s see how well my medical training’s held up all these years!”

After tending to Eggsy’s wounds and putting him to bed, Merlin follows Kincade down to the kitchens. None of the servants are up at the early hour, meaning that he doesn’t have to explain his sudden appearance to them without being properly caffeinated. Or speak to anyone who isn’t Kincade, for that matter. Merlin’s exhaustion is bone-deep and he wants nothing more than to go rest next to Eggsy, but his stomach is about to eat itself.

Kincade gestures to a stool by the butcher’s block, waiting for Merlin to take a seat before he asks as he puts a kettle on the stove, “So what happened?”

“Which version do you want?”

“The one that _you_ aren’t supposed to tell me, of course!” Kincade grumbles from the refrigerator, where he’s getting the ingredients for omelets and toast. When Merlin doesn’t laugh, the other man frowns. “Not even a crack, eh? You must be knackered!”

Merlin palms his face and nods. “A bit beyond that point,” he admits. “Do you remember Igraine? You met her once or twice when you were in London.”

“Pretty lass and sharper than a blade, aye? Not to mention she had the ability to make Harry Hart wither in his oxfords,” Kincade says. He cracks the eggs over a pan and begins beating them. “What about her?”

“She’s dead. She was Eggsy’s mother.”

Kincade turns, surprised. “May she rest in peace,” he whispers. “He saw what happened?” When Merlin nods, the old man frowns. “Poor lad. No one deserves that, especially when it’s their own mum. She saved his life in return for her own then?”

“Yes. He ran from their flat to the storefront and broke inside; I was the one who found him,” Merlin continues as the image of Eggsy standing in front of him in soaking wet clothes and blood dripping onto the floor flashes behind closed eyelids. “Do you remember that case I had you dig up some information on from several months ago? Richmond Valentine.”

The other man snorts over the sound of him dicing up vegetables and dumping them into the pan. “Tech guru with a passion for charity and horrible clothes,” Kincade answers. “Aye, I remember. Didn’t he turn up dead recently?”

“It was Igraine's case. I believe whoever murdered Valentine is responsible for her death as well, and they have managed to infiltrate Kingsman,” Merlin says as the tea kettle goes off. He follows Kincade’s movements as he goes to the stove and fusses over it before pouring hot water into two mugs meant for coffee.

Kincade tosses a glance over his shoulder. “Earl Grey or Scottish Breakfast?” he asks.

“Earl Grey, please,” Merlin replies. Once the mug is set down in front of him, he tears the teabag from its packaging and dunks it inside to seep. “The person who attacked Eggsy inside of my flat was one of the nurses under Xavier Hanover.”

“Bloody hell! Do you think Xavier...?” Kincade questions, unable to finish. He and Hanover have been friends since university and had worked for MI6 before Kingsman poached the latter.

While betrayal isn’t exactly uncommon in their line of business, friendship is. For one to survive bullets, poisons, and explosives, it’s rarer than agents making it to their golden years.

Merlin shakes his head. “Doubtful, but it doesn’t mean the people around him are safe from suspicion.” He curls his hands around the mug and glances down, watching as the tea mixes in with the water. “It frightens me to think of how deep it goes.”

“Then don’t,” Kincade replies. He’s beating the eggs again. “So who is it we’re supposed to be fighting?”

“There’s no ‘we’ in it, Kincade. This is not your fight,” Merlin insists.

The older man turns around with a spatula in hand, wearing a frown just as naturally as he holds a rifle or wears his long johns. “Try and stop me, you jumped-up little shit! Now, be helpful and put on the toast.”

The kitchen has always been a place for Merlin to hide from his boisterous and large family, especially when they gathered at _Bonheur_. He recalls all of the times he snuck into the kitchen to help the staff with preparing whatever meal was being served. Maurice, the cook, would give Merlin bits of chocolate to nibble on as he watched a pot for signs of boiling. When he grew older, Hugo and Delphine, when Hugo retired, taught Merlin how to properly dice up vegetables and cut fruit into thin slices.

Standing next to Kincade as Merlin makes them toast brings him back to a simpler time. A time before Kingsman and a green-eyed young man came crashing into his orbit, shouting oxfords, not brogues and nicking key cards from his colleagues. He thinks of Eggsy and can’t regret meeting him, not even an iota. Merlin only wishes it hadn’t cost Michelle her life.

“So that lad you brought with you,” Kincade says once they’re a couple of bites into their breakfast. “He isn’t just a colleague’s son, hm? Been mixing business with pleasure, have you?”

Merlin doesn’t even bother with suppressing an eye roll. “Is it _that_ obvious?” he asks before shoving some omelet into his mouth.

“Only if someone knows your tells,” Kincade replies with a chuckle. “If that nasty case of shock he’s got needs more attention, I know of someone who could be of service. Knew her during my MI6 days; trustworthy lass with experience with soldiers returning from combat.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says, earnestly. “Truly, Kincade.”

“It’s nothing,” the other man says with a dismissive wave. His dark eyes stare at Merlin’s plate. “Now eat, if you know what’s good for you!”

Merlin snorts into his food. “Aye, aye!”

They eat in a companionable silence as some of the house staff begins filtering in. None of them pay either man any mind and go about their morning tasks in hushed French.

“Should I be expecting Harry at some point?” Kincade asks. He’s on his third cup of tea now while Merlin’s polishing off some omelet piled on a slice of toast. “You did use the safeguards I taught you, aye?”

Merlin nods as he dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, of course! As for him showing up, it all depends on the situation in London. He might not be able to leave without arousing suspicion.”

“When I’m out fetching you and the lad some more clothes, I’ll see if there’s anything in the papers or on the telly,” Kincade offers. He frowns at Merlin’s yawn. “Alright! Up you get, laddie, and off to bed with you! I’ll clear this mess away.”

He goes without an argument.

 

* * *

 

When Eggsy comes back to himself, his body is a giant ball of pain.

It rolls through him in waves, sharpening and then crashing down before retreating. His hands, especially, hurt when he tries to make a fist. Groaning in discomfort, Eggsy decides moving isn’t a good idea for the foreseeable future and he really ought to will himself back to sleep. Except his mind is going one hundred kilometers per minute because he’s not dead and his surroundings aren’t familiar. The scent of Merlin’s flat has been replaced with something older as if he was in a museum, though he catches a faint whiff of his lover’s cologne. Eggsy turns over, grunting as he does so, and sees light streaming through a slightly ajar door.

This place isn’t Merlin’s bedroom and he’s alone. The pillow next to him holds the impression of someone having slept there. How long ago, Eggsy has no idea. As he leans over, he’s greeted by the scent of Earl Grey and can breathe a sigh of relief. So they haven’t been separated, but they're certainly not in Merlin’s flat. Against his better judgment, Eggsy gets out of bed. He shivers as his feet touch the cold surface of hardwood floors. It becomes more bearable when he starts walking across them towards the source of the light, which turns out to be a bathroom.

No one’s in there except for his own reflection in the mirror. Stepping closer, Eggsy takes stock of his appearance, starting with the clothes on his body that aren’t his own. He touches his shirt’s hem and notices the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. His face is peppered with bruises, though nothing seems to be broken, thankfully. Eggsy lifts his chin to find the scratch left behind from the paring knife Digby held to his throat as he snarled into his ear.

Before Merlin shot him and Eggsy descended into a fog.

Eggsy closes his eyes at the memory, not wanting to think of what Digby said to him or the destruction they caused as they fought. Leaving the bathroom, he goes in search of any clues to indicate where he is.

Now that his sight has adjusted to the low light, he is able to make out his surroundings. The furniture inside the bedroom is made of dark wood with intricate carvings while gilded framed paintings hang upon the plaster walls. He walks up to the windows and their fancy curtains, taking in the moonlit landscape while his own reflection is a ghost on the glass. If what he’s seeing is anything to go by, Eggsy is somewhere in the country.

As he begins to scratch his chin, pain spikes in his hand and causes him to let loose a curse. After shaking it out, Eggsy decides to pick at the bandages and begins to slowly unwrap them until his swollen knuckles stare up at him. His skin is a mosaic of bruises where it isn’t cracked from punching Digby.

Digby’s face bubbles to the surface; his sunny grin and cheerful demeanor—always happy no matter what. How quickly it all changed when Eggsy spotted the golden circle embedded into his forearm.

How quickly everything changed.

Eggsy breathes in and then out; he needs to find Merlin and find out what they’re looking at…whatever that is.

When he touches the brass knob, Eggsy’s relieved to find that he isn’t being secluded in this room. Merlin has treated him as an equal from the very beginning—not that he expected it to be any different. The door creaks open, revealing a hallway.

Using the light scones on the walls, he follows them downstairs with an audience of blokes and birds dressed in clothing from eras long past. Eggsy notices bits of Merlin in these people, adding more mystery to where the hell he is. Perhaps a family hunting lodge in the wilds of Scotland or Wales?

He hopes it’s somewhere with loads of guns.

As he comes closer to the main floor, Eggsy hears a pair of voices. He cranes his head, straining to find the direction of where they’re coming from when a woman carrying a tray crosses his path. Waving to grab her attention, Eggsy says, “Hello.”

The woman stops. “ _Allô_ ,” she replies.

He hesitates, not expecting the French coming out of her mouth. With a tight smile, Eggsy continues on. “I’m looking for a tall bloke…”

“ _Vous cherchez Hamish_?” she asks. “ _Il est dans le bureau, avec Kincade; allez travers._ ”

“Uh…” Eggsy stammers because like an arsehole, he took Latin and Spanish in college. “ _No sé cómo hablar Francés._ ”

She stares at him, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “ _Je ne comprends…_ ”

Eggsy’s about to say something when Merlin’s brogue calls out, “Anastasie! _Tu n’as besoin d’…_ ” He comes into view, sleeves rolled up his arms and glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. Merlin’s steps slow when he sees Eggsy. “You’re awake.”

“ _Je vais gérer ça,_ ” the woman, Anastasie, announces, shooting a knowing look at Merlin. With that, she disappears through another doorway.

“Where are we?” Eggsy takes another step down, still confused. “Are we in France?” he asks, whispering.

Merlin nods as he goes to meet Eggsy at the bottom of the staircase. “We are; more specifically, my family’s chateau in Nantes. The Loire Valley.”

“Your family _owns_ a chateau?” Eggsy squawks, closing the distance between them. “This place is a _fucking_ chateau?”

Merlin nods again, humoring him. “It’s been in my family since 1926. A post-War World I purchase of a great-uncle who enjoyed alcohol, but not people.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers against Eggsy’s.

All of the tension rushes out of Eggsy, immediately replaced by an inexplicable calm. From the moment he feels Merlin’s skin on his, he can breathe more easily. He goes to Merlin and wraps his arms around his waist, sighing as his lover returns his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers into his hair. “I shouldn’t have left the flat.” He holds him more tightly. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”

Eggsy presses his cheek into his lover’s sternum. “Digby being a two-faced arsehole has nothing to do with you,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I am meant to keep you safe; that’s what I promised you.”

“ _Actually_ , you promised to find the people who killed my mum and stepdad,” Eggsy reminds him. He looks at Merlin and smiles, cheekily. “It’s slow going, but you’re getting there with my help.”

It’s worth it to see Merlin roll his eyes as he tries to keep himself from grinning. “I perish the thought if Harry and I were without your assistance,” he says as he ducks in to kiss Eggsy’s forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened when I realized something was amiss with Digby.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“Xavier phoned me about his mobile being missing, which I suspect was in Mr. Barker’s possession. I jumped out of a cab in the middle of traffic and ran back to the flat,” Merlin explains, cheeks turning pink as he speaks.

Eggsy thinks he ought to send Dr. Hanover a bottle of wine when this is all over. “Aren’t you a regular Liam Neeson?” he says, trying to lighten the mood. It’s better than the moment that blood sprayed his face and neck, pungently smelling of copper and seeping into every orifice around them. Eggsy swallows, forcing himself to smile as he tugs on the front of Merlin’s shirt. “I bet you turned a few heads on your way back.”

“ _Eggsy._ ” It comes out like a prayer said in fond annoyance. Merlin’s hands come to his cheeks and gently cup his face, eyes bright with guilt. His mouth moves only to stop when he notices that Eggsy’s removed one of the bandages from his knuckles. “Those are meant to be kept on.”

He shrugs. “I was inspecting the damage.”

“Inspecting the damage,” Merlin echoes. “Come; let’s get this rebandaged and some food in you. Kincade is eager to meet you.”

“Kincade?”

“He’s the groundskeeper; former MI6,” Merlin says as he leads Eggsy into what turns out to be a study. “And slightly mad, if I’m being honest, but don’t let that fool you. He’s a valuable ally.”

A grunt comes from an armchair. “Slightly mad? Ta ever so much; let that be _the last time_ I help your sorry arse again!” The thick brogue’s owner leans forward, revealing himself to be a chap around Eggsy’s grandad’s age if he were still alive. A pair of dark eyes scrutinizes him from beneath bushy, untamed brows. “Ah, you’re awake then. You still look like shit warmed over, laddie. Perhaps some whiskey wouldn’t go amiss? We certainly have plenty of the stuff.”

“Eggsy Unwin,” Merlin sighs in exasperation, “meet Kincade Sinclair.”

“Such an ungrateful brat,” Kincade snarls as he stands up, thrusting his hand out for Eggsy to shake before remembering his injuries. He eyes the bare, bruised knuckles but doesn’t mention them. “Don’t know how you put up with him, laddie.” He winks. “Hamish, here, has filled me in on the current situation. It’s some nasty business you’ve both found yourself in the middle of.”

Eggsy raises a brow at hearing what he suspects is Merlin’s given name. “It found me,” he replies.

Kincade’s laughter fills the room. “Aye, ain’t that the truth!” He gestures to one of the armchairs. “Now, let’s see what we can do for that hand while Hamish makes himself useful and gets you a bite to eat.”

Merlin notices Eggsy’s hesitation. “Before MI6 recruited him, Kincade was training to be a physician,” he tells him. “I trust him with my life as well as yours.”

“Enough with your chitchat!” Kincade snaps at Merlin. “Come and sit, laddie. We’ll have a drink before I tend to you, aye?”

He goes to the chair and sinks down upon the cushion, keeping his stare on Kincade the entire time. Eggsy doesn’t notice Merlin leave until he realizes he’s gone. “How long have we’ve been here?” he asks.

“Just the day,” the other man answers as he fusses over Eggsy’s drink as well as his own. “Hamish showed up around five in the morning with you in the backseat. That was a fairly nasty case of shock you had, but he did well enough, given the urgency to get you both out of London.” He turns, holding two glasses in his hand and beckons Eggsy to take one. “I don’t expect you to remember much.”

He nods and takes a sip of whiskey, wincing as it burns his throat. “It goes hazy after a bit,” he admits.

“Hm, probably for the best. That drive is rather dull; watching paint dry is far more entertaining.” They drink until their glasses are empty. Kincade walks over to the desk under a bay window and fishes out a first aid kit. He comes back to his chair and begins taking out what he needs. “I looked you over when you first arrived,” he explains. “The knuckles are swollen, that’s for certain, but I don’t think they’re broken. How bad is the pain?”

Eggsy looks down at his hand, frowning at the discoloration and swelling. “About a four or five. It hurts if I make a fist or put pressure on them; nothing more than a seven.”

“Maybe a fracture,” Kincade muses. “May I?”

His bedside manner is a bit brusquer than Dr. Hanover’s, but the entire process of Kincade assessing Eggsy’s knuckles and rewrapping is fairly painless. He moves to other injuries. “I figure you might be tired of people poking at you,” he says as Merlin comes back in. “Took you long enough!” Kincade snaps at him with amusement.

“I had to convince Anastasie that I was perfectly capable of preparing a meal on my own,” Merlin replies as he sets the tray he’s carrying down. “What’s the verdict?”

“Same as before; nothing broken, just bruised.” Kincade turns to Eggsy. “You should take a few days to rest and let your body heal up.”

Eggsy frowns. “We don’t have a few days.”

“We do,” Merlin interjects, offering a smile when Eggsy stares at him. “Outside of my family, only two people within Kingsman know this place exists.” His expression darkens as he clears his throat. “One of them is dead.”

“And the other’s Harry, isn’t it?” Eggsy states. He drags his teeth over his bottom lip as nerves build up in his chest. “Will he even know where we went?”

Merlin nods. “He and I set up a protocol with Kincade’s help in case if Kingsman were to be…compromised. He knows what to do, and when he’s able, Harry will come. In the meantime, you and I will lay low while Kincade reaches out to some trusted contacts to see if they’ve heard of an organization who brands their members with golden circles.”

“You showed him everything,” Eggsy whispers. The words _can we trust him_ hang in the air. It’s a fair enough question, given how tangled the web has become. He wonders how his mum handled all of this; the uncertainty of allegiances, the threat of death, all of the secrets she swore to keep…

Eggsy wonders how she didn’t go mental.

“Aye, he did,” Kincade tells him, his tone soft with understanding. “It isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before, laddie. Your mum found something big; bigger than any of us can imagine.”

He thinks upon Merlin’s earlier statement and turns to him. “My mum was the other person who knew about this place.” Eggsy watches him nod his head. “Why?”

“To keep her safe,” he says. “To keep you both safe.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I specifically told Digby to _wait_ until you were available for backup!” Poppy shouts into the receiver.

If that idiot weren’t already dead, she would do the job herself. Just when they were beginning to gain some footing on silencing Eggsy Unwin, Digby had to give into his ego and muck everything up. For what? Glory? To impress her? To gain recognition from others within their organization? It doesn’t matter now—Digby’s body has been found inside in Unwin’s assigned minder's flat and now they are missing.  

Poppy rubs her temples in slow, soothing circles as she regrets branding Digby with a golden circle matching the one on the inside of her forearm. “How difficult is it for people to just be _patient_?” she asks. “All I ask from you is to trust me and this is the thanks I get in return!”

“Digby lacked foresight,” the person on the other end tells her, sounding just as frustrated as Poppy does. “And common sense. I'm sorry for the stress this situation has caused you, Poppy.”

She sighs. “I know _you_ are, dear. You and Charlie have always been my favorites. The two of you have been nothing but loyal time and time again.” Poppy squares her shoulders and says, “Has there been any indication of where Mr. Unwin and his minder have gone?”

Thinking back on it, Poppy finds that Unwin having a babysitter is utterly predictable. Like this young man needs someone to protect him from harm when harm’s already befallen him. It’s laughable, really.

“Not yet. It seems that their disappearance is baffling everyone,” the caller replies. “I suspect that they may have traveled to Scotland.”

“Scotland?” Poppy asks, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She notices Charlie coming into her office, carrying a tray with two drinks and a generous serving of chocolate cake. Charlie’s always had that eerie foresight for as ruthless as he is. “Why Scotland? It rains all of the time!”

The caller pauses before answering; the soles of their shoes slap against the floor until they stop. “Merlin is Scottish,” they say.

“Merlin?” Poppy grouses, rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of this man’s name. She plucks a cocktail from the tray and sips. “Honestly, when will Kingsman stop with the King Arthur legend? It’s so tired and _boring_!”

“Kingsman enjoys their traditions,” the caller replies, neutrally.

Poppy shrugs as she drinks. “There are better traditions than employing some from a fantasy made up by a bunch of crackpots! For instance, take the Cleavers. They had wholesome American values that people could relate to,” she says. “The need for a nuclear family, you know? Where the wife runs the household while the husband goes to work or helps Tommy with his science fair project.”

“My father is on his fourth marriage,” the caller deadpans.

“Oh,” Poppy replies, momentarily at a loss for words. “That’s a pity. Perhaps if he was exposed to these examples, he could have a healthier view of family.”

The caller sighs into the receiver. “Perhaps,” they say neutrally before changing the subject. “What would you like me to do regarding Unwin and Merlin?”

Poppy picks up a fork and cuts out a dainty slice of cake which she consumes. Blotting her lips with a napkin, she says, “Monitor the situation and see if you can find out exactly where they are. None of this lone wolf crap! I don’t want you to end up like Digby.”

“Agreed,” the caller says. “I will keep you abreast of any new information, though I must warn you: Kingsman is up in arms about this _incident_. They may close ranks and only allow those who have been working on this case from the beginning access.”

Poppy groans while Charlie glances at her in great curiosity from across her desk. He’s scraping the icing off the cake before consuming it. “Of course they would because it’s _that_ type of movie,” she grumbles.

“It so happens that I have managed to plant seeds of trust, unlike Digby, who obliterated them,” the caller tells her.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning no one will suspect _me_ ,” they say, sounding neither arrogant or proud.

It’s probably why this particular Kingsman agent is one of Poppy’s favorites. “I trust you,” she says.

“That is much appreciated,” the caller replies. “I will keep you and Mr. Hesketh aware of any new information coming in.”

Charlie scowls at being called _Mr. Hesketh_ while Poppy cuts a larger piece of cake. “Roxy,” she says, “it’s always a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Roxy says before disconnecting the call.

 

* * *

 

“Your mother, Harry, and I always knew we were playing a dangerous game,” Merlin explains their first night at _Bonheur_.

It’s an awful, stifled conversation, as one would expect. To say that both of them are knackered is an understatement. Merlin feels like he’s hardly slept and what little he got wasn’t enough to return some semblance of a human being to his person. Then again, Eggsy looks no better. He’s still rather pale and shaky as he picks over the meal Merlin managed to scrounge up for him.

Eggsy’s probably not even hungry, and Merlin can’t bring himself to comment on it. “Friendships are very rare in our work, though betrayal runs rampant,” he says. Kincade nods solemnly from his armchair as he stuffs tobacco into his pipe. “Harry and I had a plan similar to Kingsman’s Avalon Initiative.”

Eggsy drops his fork on the plate, wincing at the sound it makes. “Avalon Initiative?” he questions. “What’s that?”

“A doomsday protocol. If Kingsman were to be targeted, destroyed, or even compromised, the survivors would have a plan to follow.” Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. Good God, when did this become so fucking hard? “It was developed during the Cold War to ensure there was a designated survivor.”

He’s certain Eggsy’s heard the term before—from a history class or in the Marines. Merlin watches a shiver run through his lover, knowing it’s not from the lingering effects of shock, but just how far this breach goes. It’s not even about someone uncovering Michelle’s true identity; it’s that a criminal organization comprised of the world’s elite and _fellow agents_ , for fuck’s sake, have infiltrated Kingsman.

Merlin doesn’t need to be vocal over just _how fucked they are_ unless they begin getting answers and quickly.

“This place was meant to be used as a refuge in the event of unforeseen complications. When your mother became Igraine, she had you along with her Kingsman responsibilities. The three of us realized how vital it was to keep it a secret.”

“So if something were to happen, she would have brought me here?” Eggsy questions.

“Yes,” Merlin replies. “Or one of us if she were unable. I believed this to be true when I came back to the flat and saw…” They share a glance before Merlin turns away. He hasn’t thought about that conversation in years; the one where Michelle made him promise to protect Eggsy if something were to happen. It went beyond the medallion; beyond the foundations which Kingsman was founded upon.

_“He’s all I’ve got left now,” Michelle told Merlin shortly after a mission to Istanbul that nearly went tits up. She and Lancelot barely escaped a deadly fire-fight with their lives, due to James being a cocky wanker. Michelle turned to him, bruised and completely serious. “You have to promise me, Hamish. Promise me that you’ll help Eggsy if something happens.”_

_Merlin was uncertain of how to take the request. “I know nothing about children…”_

_“And you think I did? Or Lee, even? The two of us were bumbling fools!” Michelle saddened at the mere mention of her late husband. Taking Merlin’s hand in hers, she squeezed it. “Hamish, you’re the only one I trust with him. Promise me!”_

_“I promise.”_

Two words that he tucked down inside of him because luck seemed to be on Igraine’s side, on all of their sides, until it wasn’t and Eggsy came crashing into his life.

And like a fool, he uttered them again. Merlin balls one of his fists until his knuckles turn white and his skin stings from the stretch.

“What he means, laddie, is that Hamish has taken you both off the grid,” Kincade supplies as he lights his pipe. He begins puffing on it, creating tiny clouds of tobacco smoke. “You’ll be staying here for a while, but lucky for you, we have lots of whiskey, explosives, and heavy machinery.”

Merlin catches the confusion and apprehension growing on Eggsy’s face; he’ll freely admit that Kincade is a bit of an acquired taste. “Heavy machinery?”

“Guns,” the old man says, then winks. Leave it to Kincade, the crazy bastard, to be excited about using firearms while ignoring Eggsy’s look of utter horror.

He clears his throat and shoots Kincade one hell of a glare. “You’re scaring him,” Merlin snaps. Eggsy’s complexion has gone pale where it’s not a mess of bruises.

“I’m just trying to ease the lad’s mind! Besides, he might want to go out to the range while you hack into computer systems or whatever it is you do while you await further instruction! Isn’t that right, laddie?”

“Further instruction? From who?” Eggsy asks as his eyes dart between them like there’s a punchline that he’s not privy to. “Merlin just said Kingsman is compromised. We can’t trust anybody there!”

“We _can_ trust Harry,” Merlin insists.

Eggsy raises a questioning brow and asks, “ _Can_ we, though? If someone like Digby were able to fool us, who’s to say that Harry couldn’t do the same thing?”

“Because, Eggsy,” he snarls, despite not meaning or wanting to. This whole mess has Merlin on edge and he thinks no one can really blame him for it. “If he were, we’d already be dead.” He sets his drink down with a loud thunk. “If you’d excuse me.”

As he leaves, Kincade says something to Eggsy that sounds an awful like, “Let him cool off, laddie, and join me for a cuppa, aye?”

It’s for best that Eggsy doesn’t follow Merlin outside. He needs to feel crisp, cool air against his skin and the silence found in the darkness outside will bring him just so he can think. So he can wrap his head around _this fucking mess_.

Merlin doesn’t want to admit that Eggsy’s right; they can’t trust anyone associated with Kingsman. Except where Harry’s concerned, despite what Eggsy thinks of him. His introduction to the lives of his mother and Merlin is still fresh and full of fear while Merlin has weathered many storms, but even this is beyond his scope. He’s grasping at straws while trying his best to keep Eggsy, his dead colleague’s son and witness to her murder—his lover, for fuck’s sake—safe and calm.

He’s doing a shit job at it, he thinks. Michelle would probably have his bollocks for earrings if she were here to see this.

The night greets Merlin as he goes out onto the balcony after shutting the French doors behind him. It’s chillier out here and quieter without the house staff or Kincade moving about. The constant buzzing in Merlin’s head dampens as he finds stars twinkling back at him. It reminds him of the chandeliers inside _Bonheur_ or even his parent’s estate near Edinburgh.

A thousand glittering lights set against the dense black sky; it never ceases to amaze him.

He stands outside until the early morning dew covers nearly everything but his person as he takes in the sunrise. Perhaps he’s jaded about London, but the dawn sky in Nantes turns into a sea of blushing scarlets and warm tangerines set across a blue background that grows brighter while the other colors fade. Merlin decides to go in just as the sun peeks over the horizon and his jumper no longer shields him from the chill.

Unsurprisingly the house is quiet save for the usual creaks and whines old structures make. The sounds used to frighten him as a boy and he would force his older brother to hold his hand when they tip-toed around long after their bedtime. Now that Merlin thinks about it, the portraits of his ancestors lining the walls hadn’t helped either.

The moment he opens the door to his room and finds Eggsy sprawled across the bed, asleep, any lingering resentment or anger vanishes. He walks over to him, noticing the uncomfortable position Eggsy has tangled himself into as if he’s spent the night waiting for Merlin to come inside, then he realizes that Eggsy probably has and Merlin doesn’t know if he should be concerned or elated…or _both_. With the events of the last day and a half, Eggsy should be resting, not keeping guard until Merlin’s done having a silent hissy fit!

As he eases Eggsy down onto the mattress, his lover snuffles and groans before blinking his eyes open. The pupils constrict, then retract as the fogginess fades from them. “Merlin,” Eggsy whispers, tiredly. He goes to palm his face. “You came back.”

The statement shouldn’t sting as much as it does; after all, he was the berk who went charging outside and stayed there until sunrise. “Aye, of course, I did,” Merlin says as he pulls the linens up to Eggsy’s shoulders and smooths them down. “I’m just going to kip into the bathroom, but I’ll be along shortly.”

He goes to move when Eggsy catches Merlin by his wrist. He glances at the hand wrapped around him, anchoring Merlin to where he stands, then Eggsy. Eggsy who looks worried and exhausted, like he’s shouldering all of their burdens. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he begins to say. “For what I said about—”

Merlin shakes his head. “No,” he insists, going to cup Eggsy’s cheeks. “Don’t you dare, Eggsy. Don’t you dare apologize.” He worries his thumbs over the lad’s skin before leaning in to press his lips to Eggsy’s forehead. “You have every right to question what’s happening, even Harry. I daresay that your mother would have done the same thing. When I began fortifying this place with Kincade, Harry thought I had gone off the rails. Paranoid, he called me while I argued that I was just planning ahead. This estate is practically abandoned if it weren’t for the efforts I take to maintain its upkeep, and it’s the perfect place to hide.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Eggsy to him, where Merlin sighs into the weight of the lad’s arms wrapping themselves around his waist. Merlin buries his nose in Eggsy’s hair and breathes. “Most would assume I would run off to Scotland and hide somewhere in the Highlands, biding my time.”

“No one would ever think of France because you’re a brilliant bastard,” Eggsy surmises, holding Merlin closer.

“I have my moments.” Merlin tilts Eggsy’s chin up and stares into the mossy green of his eyes. “I gave your mother and Harry burner devices, only to be used in the event of…well, _this_. I sent out a message after we arrived here. Per our agreement, Harry will wait a week or two before coming and if he’s unable, he’ll contact me.”

Eggsy nods solemnly. “And until then?”

“We wait,” Merlin says. Eggsy moves in his arms and presses his face into Merlin’s sternum where he sighs. “I’m certain Kincade would be more than happy to go shooting if you asked.” He grins when he hears Eggsy’s soft snort.

“He’s bloody mad, isn’t he?”

Merlin chuckles. “Absolutely gone ‘round the twist, but he has resources we would otherwise not have access to without Kingsman.” His eyelids begin to droop; he’s nearly forgotten that these days have been taxing on him as well. “I ought to pop in the bathroom. Won’t be a moment.”

“Might be asleep when you come back,” Eggsy warns as they untangle themselves from each other. He tugs on the front of Merlin’s jumper and brings him in for a quick kiss. “Unless if you want me to wait up.”

He kisses Eggsy again. “I think you’ve done plenty of that for a night,” Merlin teases. “Either way, I’ll be here when you wake.”

“You soppy bastard,” Eggsy says with a yawn as Merlin heads to the bathroom.

The lad isn’t wrong, nor does the statement bother him. Merlin would be lying if he said that he didn’t care deeply for Eggsy; he does and he’s certain it’s not because he’s developing a savior complex. He thinks if they had met under normal circumstances—by them running into each other while Eggsy was out with his mum or at a pub or the grocery—Merlin would feel this way.

That he could very well end up falling arse over tits in love with Eggsy. The notion of it doesn’t frighten Merlin as it once did; Eggsy knows everything about Kingsman and doesn’t judge Merlin for it. In fact, he seems to embrace it. As Merlin falls into bed alongside his lover, he wonders if, perhaps, Eggsy would consider submitting himself for candidacy for his mother’s vacant mantle. Either way, he suspects that the lad will stay in his life for quite some time.

Forever, if they can manage it. It’s a nice thought to have as Merlin curls around Eggsy and sleeps.

 

* * *

 

Three days after arriving at _Bonheur_ and not hearing a bloody thing, the statuesque Tilde Bernadotte von Hohenberg comes blazing through the front doors of the chateau in a cloud of Chanel No.5 and matched Louis Vuitton luggage.

Eggsy hears Tilde before actually _seeing_ her. Tilde’s charming Swedish lit booms through the chateau like she has a bloody amplifier attached to her person. Walking cautiously towards the main staircase, Eggsy peeks out from behind one of the ornate top newel to catch a glimpse of a blonde haired woman removing her sunglasses as Merlin and Kincade go to greet her. She’s older than Eggsy imagined—in her mid to late sixties, he reckons—though absolutely, positively _stunning_.

Tilde gives Kincade a long, heartfelt hug before addressing Merlin with an impish smirk. “He’s grown since I last saw him,” she comments. “You were only a boy, isn’t that right, _goding_?”

Merlin straightens his posture as he clears his throat. “That was _two years ago_!”

“Still a boy,” Tilde reiterates, still smirking. She links arms with Kincade and leans in as if to whisper. “ _A väldigt stilig_ boy.”

Kincade chuckles, much to Merlin’s annoyance. “He’s already spoken for, darling.”

 _Damn right he is,_ Eggsy thinks, possessively, as Tilde says, “A tragedy.” She lets go of Kincade and pockets her sunglasses. “I’ve heard you are running from people with golden circles embedded in their arms.”

“You heard correctly,” Merlin tells her. “Perhaps you have heard of them?”

Tilde shrugs. “Perhaps. Only rumors and very scant ones at that. The Golden Circle, they call themselves—not very original, if you ask me. Now Hamish, tell me who you’re running with. Kincade mentioned there was a boy with you.”

“What the fuck? A boy!” Eggsy snaps from the top of the stairs as he steps out from behind the top newel. Three pairs of eyes turn on him and he suddenly feels out of his element. Then again, he’s felt that way since he took off in the rain with his mum’s medallion around his neck.

A woman’s laughter rings in the entryway, sharp and clear like a bell. Tilde claps her hands together, delightedly, as she walks to the base of the stairs. “Come down, boy! Let me get a good look at you,” she calls, gesturing for Eggsy to step forward. “Come now!”

Rolling his eyes, Eggsy walks down the stairs until he’s close enough to see Tilde up close. Perfectly coiffed and beautiful, he thinks she must have been _utterly devastating_ when she was his age. The kind of bird that made all the blokes tongue-tied in her presence before she killed them, most likely.

Something in her expression changes as they stare at each other. Tilting her head, recognition crosses her face and she reaches out to cup Eggsy’s cheek. “You’re Igraine’s son,” she states, narrowing her eyes at him. “Is she here?”

“She’s dead,” Eggsy answers.

Tilde gasps. “Dead?” Her hand drops away from his face like he’s burnt her. “When?” she demands.

“Nearly two months ago,” Merlin says.

“Two months?” Tilde gasps, turning towards Merlin. “ _Two months_ and I only found out?” A string of Swedish, Eggsy suspects, comes in rapid succession and, honestly, Tilde sounds awfully narked off.

Merlin takes the tirade in stride, only speaking once she’s stopped. “Her killer is still at large,” he says. “They’ve infiltrated Kingsman. One of their operatives tried to assassinate Eggsy in my flat.”

“Kingsman has been compromised?” Tilde’s eyes widen as she glances between Eggsy and Merlin. With a mumbled curse, she straightens her blazer and turns to Kincade. “ _Älskling,_ if you had told me how fucked we were, I would have brought more weapons.”

As it turns out Tilde was an agent with Säpo, though she retired from field work nearly a decade ago and currently consults with them. A member of the Hohenberg family by marriage, Tilde, herself, is of the Bernadotte dynasty and is, apparently, seventeenth in line for the Swedish throne. Royal lineage aside, she is well learned in how to kill a man about forty different ways and is an expert-ranked sniper.

And she knows a great deal more about the Golden Circle than any of them do. “It originally started out as a drug cartel in the late nineties,” Tilde explains over tea. “There is very little information on its founder—a woman named Poppy Adams, though Säpo believes it to be an alias.”

“How quaint,” Kincade mumbles as he butters a scone.

“Quaint, yes, but she is not one to be underestimated. You should know that women are more formidable than men, Kincade,” Tilde tells him, smiling sweetly. It widens when Eggsy chokes on his laughter. “The Golden Circle is connected to numerous murders, even a few political assassinations.”

Merlin frowns. “Does Säpo know how many are in their ranks?”

“They suspect, but it’s only an estimation.”

“Richmond Valentine was one of them,” Eggsy announces. He shrugs when the others around him stare. “He was; the photographs from the autopsy prove it. Valentine had a golden circle on his forearm; no bigger than twenty pence! It was the same marking that Digby had.”

Over her teacup, Tilde raises a brow and looks to Merlin for an answer. “Digby Barker,” he says. “The young man who attacked Eggsy a few days ago.”

“I see,” she replies, setting her mouth in a tight line. “You allowed Mr. Unwin to review classified documents, then?”

“Technically, they don’t exist,” Eggsy says with a cheeky grin as Merlin hisses, “Eggsy!” He looks at his lover and shrugs. “What? It’s true!”

Merlin is about to admonish him when Tilde begins laughing and has to put her teacup down. Nudging Kincade in his side, she says, “I like him!” Tilde rests her arms on the table with a mischievous glint in her eye. “If I were many years younger, my dear boy, you’d be in plenty of trouble. Now, we know for certain that Richmond Valentine and this Barker fellow were members of the Golden Circle.”

“Igraine’s last mission was to prevent a global attack orchestrated by Valentine,” Merlin tells her. “He was planning on detonating a frequency that would turn people into mindless, violent animals by distributing SIM cards manufactured by his company to the masses.”

Tilde snorts. “Innovative, but it would have been easy to track the massacre to him.”

“Huh,” Eggsy says, remembering how his mum refused to allow him to purchase the chip despite his insistence that it would save all of them some money. They had a furious row over it and didn’t speak for days until Valentine’s death was announced. “That’s why she wouldn’t let me get one.”

Merlin, Kincade, and Tilde turn to him, all of them looking rather confused.

“My mum,” he elaborates. “I wanted to get one of the Valentine cards, but she wouldn’t let me. We got into it, too; stupid thing to argue about. Now I understand why.”

“She wanted to protect you,” Merlin says quietly. Under the table, his hand slips over to Eggsy’s and laces their fingers together. “Your mother had to tread a very thin line.”

Eggsy nods as he gives Merlin’s hand a squeeze. “Telling me would have put me in danger, yeah? Well… _more_ danger,” he intones.

“Did Igraine give you anything before she died? Anything at all?” Tilde asks.

“A USB drive with everything on Valentine’s servers and personal computers,” Merlin answers. “I downloaded her mission logs as well to see if there was something I missed.”

“Did you?”

He shrugs, shaking his head. “I’m not sure, but I do know that this Golden Circle figured out who Igraine was and she’s dead because of it.” Merlin holds onto Eggsy’s more tightly. “Whatever their end game is, it’s bigger than SIM cards.”

“It may as well be Valentine sending his regards,” Kincade mutters, sourly, as he takes out a flask and opens it to pour alcohol into his tea.

Eggsy’s entire body stiffens as Digby’s words ring loudly in his ears while a face bubbles to the forefront of his mind; all the time in the world could make Eggsy forget about _him_.

_Charlie sends his regards, by the way._

Charlie Hesketh and his cold, cold eyes invade his thoughts. Eggsy can still remember the last time he saw him as the military police lead him out of the courtroom, cuffed and in disgrace. How he stared at Eggsy with all the hatred in the world. How he had everyone fooled that he was a good man, but in reality, the darkest of souls. A wolf in sheep’s clothing or, in this case, a marine’s uniform.

He had murdered Iranian civilians in front of Eggsy’s very eyes—slitting their throats and allowing their blood to spill upon the soil. Charlie thought he could get away with it because of his family connections and how he scared or bribed other witnesses into remaining silent, but not Eggsy.

 _Never_ Eggsy. He wasn’t about to let that kind of shit fly.

Charlie tried to threaten him and even held a knife to his throat as he snarled, “I _will_ tell my father about this. How it was you that did it, and what then, Unwin? Where will that get you? Besides the brig, that is. No one will ever believe _you_ over me; you’re just a bloke from Camden and my father’s in Parliament.”

He remembers the split second the military police paused, allowing Eggsy and Charlie’s eyes to meet across the courtroom. How truly evil he looked in those final moments and his sneer conveyed _this isn’t over yet_ before Charlie disappeared out of Eggsy’s life and mind…until now.

Eggsy’s body jerks involuntarily as someone shakes his arm. Their voice comes from a distance, deep and rumbling, while a higher pitched one conveys their concern. Hands clamp onto his shoulders and jostle Eggsy again when he realizes someone— _Merlin_ —is calling his name. He blinks and steps out of the fog, inhaling deeply as the parlor comes back into sharp focus. “What?” he rasps.

Merlin slumps forward, sighing with relief. “Christ, Eggsy,” he says as Kincade comes charging back in with a bottle of whiskey and a towel in hand. “Are you alright?”

“Has he gotten his senses back?” Kincade barks, lumbering over. He squints at Eggsy and frowns. “You gave us—mostly, Hamish, here—a scare, laddie!” He opens the bottle and shoves it into Eggsy’s lap. “Go on, take a swig. It’ll clear the cobwebs.”

Tilde makes an annoyed sound and snatches the towel from him. “ _Galen gammal_ man! He doesn’t need whiskey, you fool!” She crowds around Eggsy, plucking the bottle from his hands and setting it on the table before pressing the fabric to his forehead. He’s surprised to find it cool and wet. “Whiskey doesn’t solve all the world’s problems!”

“Well, it bloody well should!” Kincade retorts as he grabs the bottle and drinks straight from it. “Think of all the time we’d save!”

“ _Galning_!” she hisses while rolling her eyes. Tilde continues to cluck over Eggsy as Merlin rubs his back. “How are you feeling, young man?”

Cold, he muses, and a bit dizzy like he’s been spinning. “Like shit, honestly.”

Tilde’s mouth twitches in amusement while Kincade says, “Would you believe that you look it too?”

She turns around to glare at him. “Hush you!” she snaps as looks back to Eggsy. “Your color’s coming back.”

“That’s not all,” he tells her. Licking his lips, Eggsy finds Merlin’s stare. “I remembered something Digby said before we had it out—Charlie sends his regards.”

“Charlie?” Merlin repeats, baffled. “I don’t know of a Charlie employed with Kingsman.”

Eggsy shakes his head. “But _I_ do—Charlie Hesketh. And he didn’t work for Kingsman; he was in my unit and a nasty bastard,” he says with more bite than he intended. As he frowns, Eggsy curls his hands into fists and feels the press of his fingernails cutting into his palms. “He was arrested and court-martialed for killing Iranian civilians, but it was all very hush-hush.”

“What does this have to do with you?” Tilde asks.

“I testified against him,” Eggsy replies. “The court gave him a life sentence at MCTC. I remember him looking at me from across the room as the military police escorted him out like he had something up his sleeve.”

Kincade steps forward with the bottle of whiskey in hand. “What are you saying, lad?”

“He was there that night,” he snarls. “He was there the night my mum was murdered.” Eggsy thinks of the men who descended upon the flat, taking away everything he held dear in a matter of minutes. Of the bullets that hailed down on him and his mum and the one that killed her. Of the men who raped him and left him for dead, laughing as they lit his home on fire.

Strange what one remembers once the trauma has passed. The moments in time that were fogged over by self-preservation, only clearing to make room for more, because that’s all life is—a series of moments until they’re gone.

How a simple, nearly forgotten second—simply overlooked because of pain and blood loss—bubbles to the surface like a half-remembered dream. How Eggsy came to, if only for a moment, to find himself bloodied and used, and Charlie Hesketh’s face in front of his own…  

_Through half-opened eyes, he stared at the other man and thought he must be in hell. It’s the only reason why Charlie would even be here. “You seem surprised,” he said. “Did you think you had seen the last of me, Unwin?”_

_Eggsy felt his eyelids falling shut when Charlie shook him. “No you don’t,” Charlie whispered. “You’re not taking the easy way out. You’re going to listen to every word I say because it’s going to be the last thing you hear.” He leaned in, snaking his fingers through Eggsy’s hair and grabbing it by the handful. “Did you really think that I would rot away in some MCTC cell? That I wouldn’t find a way out?”_

_He stared at Charlie, unable to comprehend what he was telling him, and allowed his eyes to drift. Bullet holes pierced his walls and the furniture he and his mum used to barricade themselves to give them more time. Eggsy found his mum’s body, sprawled on the carpet with her blood staining the fibers._

_“There are things so much bigger than us,” Charlie said, laughing. “So much bigger, Unwin! Your mother had no idea what she signed up for, but it doesn’t matter now. She’s taken care of.”_

_Eggsy continued to stare at her, silently willing her to reveal herself to be alive and shoot Charlie in his fucking head. “You got nothing to say?” he heard Charlie ask. “Nothing about how your precious mummy was…”_

_As his sight and hearing faded during the descent back to unconsciousness, Eggsy saw a point of light—golden light like a flame, like a sun—reflecting from his mum’s arm before darkness swallowed him._

“She was one of them,” Eggsy whispers, stunned. He blinks, hardly feeling how his eyes begin to sting and his vision blurs. “She was one of them…”

A blurry outline of Merlin appears as large hands clasp both of his shoulders. “One of them?” he asks. “Eggsy, who was one of them?”

“My mum,” Eggsy croaks, his composure breaking. Tears fall down his cheeks, but he doesn’t notice. How can he now that everything’s falling apart? “My mum was a member of the Golden Circle.”

 

* * *

 

At nearly seven in the evening, Roxy finds herself in Merlin’s flat as she searches through his personal office.

It’s not the first place she’s been, having started in the living room and moved onward hours ago, though she hasn’t found anything worthwhile. Guns hidden in clever nooks and crannies, an impressive collection of vinyl records with rounds of ammunition behind or between them, Kingsman-grade first aid kits perfect for field use, passports and identification with aliases and Merlin’s face, and a half-empty bottle of lube in his bedside table drawer. From the looks of that and a forgotten shirt sticking together with dried cum on the edges, he and Eggsy are sleeping together unless if Merlin wanks like a teenaged boy.

Honestly, Roxy isn’t entirely surprised about that development. She noticed how easily Merlin hit it off with Eggsy and the little things that followed—their stares that lasted too long to be curiosity or professional, how their demeanors changed in each other’s company, the way they gravitated towards one another. Roxy wonders how Igraine would feel about her colleague bedding her own son and chuckles as she tosses the shirt aside and goes into the next room.

She’s been here for hours, going through Merlin’s files on Igraine’s last mission to no avail. Why Roxy expected this to be easier is a lack of hindsight and now she’s becoming frustrated. A simple task without a simple end; she shouldn’t be surprised. Igraine always seemed to be a few steps ahead, so why should this be any different? Roxy has known from the start that anything Igraine found would be on her person and in her death, handed off to Merlin for safekeeping, whether he knew it or not.

Knowing how she was and what Roxy has been able to overhear, Igraine would have never have given anything over to Eggsy. She’d want him as far away from this mess as possible.

Standing up and wiping her gloved hands over her slacks, Roxy decides that Merlin has taken everything with him—it’s the only plausible answer for why there’s nothing to find. She imagines Poppy will be quite disappointed to hear that Roxy’s only managed to uncover dust bunnies, bullets, and a cum stained t-shirt.

As she makes her way out of the flat, Roxy’s mobile goes off, where she finds Harry Hart’s number on the screen. “Isn’t it a little late to be working, Galahad?” she teases when she picks up.

“Lancelot, you should know that espionage waits for no one,” Harry replies, good-naturedly. “I was wondering if I could run two items by you. That is if you’re available.”

Roxy steps over police tape while she removes her gloves and shoves them into her pocket. “Of course. What can I help you with?” she asks. It’s sheer chance that she notices someone standing in front of her. She stops, stunned and unable to muster a sound.

“First question—I know why I’ve come to Merlin’s flat, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here?” Harry inquires as he hangs up and steps forward with a menacing look on his face.

If Roxy were a lesser woman, or perhaps a man, she would probably be shitting herself right about now. With all of Harry’s gentlemanly qualities, there’s something absolutely terrifying about being on the wrong side of his err.

His finger caresses the trigger on the gun he has pointed at Roxy. “And my second question—if I roll up your sleeve, will I find a golden circle on your forearm?”

“ _Shit_ ,” is all Roxy can manage to say.


	9. Chapter 9

The chateau has quieted for now; Kincade is somewhere banging about, Tilde must be getting settled in one of the bedrooms, and Merlin’s heart thumps steadily in his ear.

Eggsy adjusts his head on Merlin’s chest and closes his eyes as his lover’s arms tighten around him. They haven’t spoken since leaving the parlor, bellies full of the whiskey given to them at Kincade’s behest and their cheeks warm from its consumption. Now they lie on top of the blankets in their bedroom, listening to the sounds of the house long after the sun’s gone down.

He expected to practically be interrogated after what he recalled because, honestly, it wouldn’t be out of the question. He even braced himself for it, then no such thing happened. Perhaps everyone was worn out from the events from the past few days, which is why Kincade began doling out glasses filled to the brim with whiskey. Betrayals, double agents, dead bodies, and forgotten memories now remembered—it’s no wonder they began drinking.

Before he and Merlin left for their room, Tilde mentioned using her resources to look into Charlie’s military records and current whereabouts. “And if anyone else who testified against him is, well…” Her eyes flickered to Eggsy, then back to Merlin. “I should know something by morning.”

Even then, there is a chance Tilde’s contacts may have nothing to tell her. No one says it, but Eggsy isn’t naive. Not like he once was.

Merlin’s lips brush against his crown, his breath moving Eggsy’s hair when he exhales, and for a moment Eggsy can pretend that their lives aren’t in danger. That they’re just another couple on a weekend holiday in a chateau filled with eccentric guests. That the man holding him in his arms hasn’t killed another to protect him.

“What do we do now?” Eggsy whispers.

“We wait for one of Tilde’s contacts or, heaven forbid, Harry—” Merlin says until Eggsy cuts him off.

He sits upright and stares at Merlin. The dim light emitted from the lamp casts an eerie glow onto his face, curling shadows over portions of it, traveling until part of Merlin is hidden. Eggsy thinks some may find him menacing this way and rightfully so—he thought the same thing in the brief he first laid eyes on him before collapsing into Merlin’s arms. “What about the database?” he asks, remembering the conversation he overheard from his seat on the couch. “The one you put the description of that bloke at Tesco through? Maybe if that came back with something—”

Merlin shakes his head. “I had to leave my laptop behind,” he says. “Someone could have traced it to here and I couldn’t risk it. I made sure to send the logarithms to Harry before we left. He’ll know what to do with them if something should turn up.”

Eggsy groans in sheer frustration. “So we _really_ have to wait, then?” He slumps against the pillows with a pout. Certainly, Eggsy resembles a child in Merlin’s eyes but he doesn’t care. The longer they wait for _something_ to happen, the more this situation chafes at him.

He’s barely had time to process who his mum really was and her death since Eggsy has been thrust into the life she tried to hide from him. What other secrets she kept to herself while only showing him what she thought he needed to see.

The great, hard-working mum who helped him with his homework and gave Eggsy everything he needed. The secret agent whose organization operated with their own rules. A savior, a killer, a liar who left him with more questions than answers. Eggsy wonders if she ever told Dean or if she was even allowed to. His stepdad was no fool—he must have known something or, perhaps, figured she worked for SIS, then left it at that.

But what if Dean knew? The mere thought of both of his parents lying to him leaves Eggsy struggling to breathe. Squeezing his hands sends a shock wave of pain through his arms, causing him to yelp. He stares down at his mutinous knuckles, still swollen and bruised from days ago. Merlin reaches for him, his expression tight with concern as he inspects the damage. “I’m fine,” Eggsy insists.

Merlin glances up at him, eyes having gone dark with his emotions, and silently counters his statement. It’s like staring into a sea once the storm has arrived; a vortex of power and natural force. He runs his fingers over the bandaged knuckles, careful not to apply pressure should it turn out that one of them is actually fractured.

Kincade seemed to be certain that it wasn’t the case, though he didn’t rule out the possibility.

“I’m fine,” Eggsy repeats, watching Merlin as he brings one of his hands to his mouth where he presses his lips against the gauze. “I’m fine,” he says more weakly.

“Are you?” Merlin questions, gently. He tilts his head in observation of Eggsy, probably see deeper into him than anyone could. He brushes his hands up and down Eggsy’s arms. “I’m not Kincade or Tilde, Eggsy. There’s no need for you to pretend.”

Why Merlin’s words slam into him and leave Eggsy with a sob clawing at his throat is simple—he’s trying so desperately to keep it together. He wants to latch onto it and hold it close, except he can’t. He’s too tired.

He falls against Merlin’s chest and buries himself in the scent of cologne mixed in with Earl Grey tea like he had done two months before. Crashing is probably a better description, though that doesn’t matter now. Eggsy’s too tired to muster tears, too tired to do anything else but curl up in the circle of Merlin’s arms and remember how to breathe.

“I’m here,” Merlin whispers into his ear. The movement of his mouth moves Eggsy’s hair, tickling his ears. “I’m right here.”

He listens to Merlin repeating these words until Eggsy’s head rests heavily against Merlin’s body and his eyes even heavier, drooping dangerously. He’s so tired, so fucking knackered that he can’t even speak. Too tired to tell Merlin that he was falling asleep, finally worn out from _everything_. Wondering if he’ll spend the rest of his life buried underneath a paranoia that makes him want to roll up the sleeves on other people’s arms, checking to make sure they aren’t keeping secrets from him.

Wondering if _this_ will kill him as it had done to his mum.

“What do we do if Harry never contacts you?” he finds himself asking. Eggsy hardly recognizes his own voice soaked in mental and emotional exhaustion. “If Tilde’s contact doesn’t have anything to tell us? What then? We can’t stay here forever.”

“We disappear,” Merlin answers.

Eggsy swallows. “Disappear?” he repeats.

The finality in Merlin’s tone makes Eggsy wonder if he’s already planned for this outcome while Eggsy, himself, hasn’t thought about what it would mean. He would never see Jamal or Ryan again, even that fucking wanker, Brandon. University friends, the lads he grew up with, comrades from the Marines…he couldn’t see or speak to them either. His degree would be left unused. And how would they earn enough money to survive? What about identities and documentation?

“I don’t want to disappear,” Eggsy whispers.

Merlin sighs. “We’ll cross that bridge,” he says as he kisses Eggsy’s temple, “if we get to it.”

“ _When_ you mean.”

“Ye have little faith,” Merlin replies. “You’d be surprised what Harry can pull out of his arse.”

Eggsy makes a face. “I’d rather not.”

Merlin laughs into his hair. “We may have a way out of this.”

“But this isn’t a movie. People are trying to kill us,” Eggsy reminds him as he glances up at Merlin. “The way I see it, we’re _royally fucked_!”

“Have you seen _Castaway_?”

“No. Why the fuck would I see that?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Okay, what about any of the _Rocky_ films?”

“Sylvester Stallone is terrible,” Eggsy replies.

“ _Lord of the Rings_?”

“I was more of a Harry Potter fan, to be honest.”

The other man groans in exasperation. “You aren’t making this easy for me,” he complains. He shifts so they are both facing each other. “Just because the odds are stacked against us, doesn’t mean we’re going to lose.”

“Oh, you mean like _Return of the Jedi_!” Eggsy says.

Eggsy notices the surprise in Merlin’s expression before he turns serious again. “Yes, like _Return of the Jedi_.”

“Except we don’t have lightsabers,” Eggsy points out, glumly. “Just barrels of whiskey and probably some explosives. I wouldn’t put that past Kincade.”

Merlin looks like he may disagree for a moment until he shrugs. “That and enough weapons to supply an entire infantry,” he says. “What I’m trying to say is that we have the means to fight these people, Eggsy. Even with the uncertainty surrounding Kingsman, we have other options. Sapo, MI6, Mossad…myself, Kincade, and Tilde have contacts who will and want to help us.” Merlin reaches out to cup one of Eggsy’s cheeks. “You and I aren’t alone in this.”

“Okay,” Eggsy says, quietly. The air hangs heavily between them, so he tries to crack another joke to ease the tension. “We still don’t have lightsabers, bruv.”

“You are… _utterly ridiculous_ ,” Merlin complains, leaning closer to Eggsy until their faces are millimeters apart. Both of them freeze, staring at each other before Merlin says, awed, “Absolutely gone ‘round the twist.”

Eggsy nods as he brings his hand up to Merlin’s cheek, caressing its warm and the stubble prickling his skin because, _fuck_ , Merlin is gorgeous. He could stare at him all day and take in his dark features and those hazel eyes that seem to see more than anyone realizes. “Completely barking,” he agrees, pulling Merlin closer until their lips brush together. It’s been days since he and Merlin have touched like this—like they want to consume each other—and with good reason seeing how they’ve been running for the lives or from Kincade who’s trying to force feed them whiskey.

Need flares up in Eggsy’s groin and spreads through his body. He moans into it while licking his way into his lover’s mouth until Merlin’s tongue is twined with his own. All he wants is for Merlin to fuck him through the mattress; to fix his wrists above his head and pull every bit of pleasure out of Eggsy’s body until he’s screaming for the entire chateau to hear. He wants Merlin to suck bruises on his skin and leave his thighs sticky with cum.

Merlin tips him onto his back, lips moving from Eggsy’s mouth to his neck and stomach as Merlin pulls his jumper off. His teeth scrape over Eggsy’s skin until he reaches his nipples, where he begins licking each nub into hard points. Eggsy cries out, lifting his hips off the mattress, while he scrambles to get rid of Merlin’s shirt; _fuck_ , he wants to _touch him_ everywhere. He wants Merlin under his palms, his mouth, _inside of him_ , which seems to also be on Merlin’s agenda.

They lose their clothes between hungry, frantic kisses, only stopping when Eggsy takes Merlin’s cock in hand and begins stroking it to full hardness. He rolls his hips against Merlin’s thigh, groaning at the friction on his own prick like he’s back at a sixth form party and his hand is up Maggie Wilson-Jones’s skirt as she instructed him on just how to roll his fingers against her clit while she gave Eggsy his first handy. He recalls her gasping and cursing into his ear as she came and how he followed after, spurting into her fist, dizzy from his first orgasm given to him by someone other than himself.

He shouts as Merlin shoves his legs up towards his chest and mouths his way down Eggsy’s body. Bypassing his hard prick, Eggsy watches as Merlin toys with his balls—licking and sucking and teasing them—before venturing away from them. “Oh,” Eggsy moans when he realizes where Merlin’s destination is, “ _fuck me_!”

Parting Eggsy’s arse cheeks, Merlin blows on his hole and chuckles as Eggsy whispers a curse. He drops his head on the pillow, closing his eyes as the first swipe of his lover’s tongue touches the puckered flesh. Merlin, thankfully, isn’t taking his time in giving Eggsy’s pleasure. He’s not waiting for his salvia to cool or for Eggsy to beg for more; he begins licking Eggsy in earnest, wetting the area until delving deeper.

Meaning he begins kissing Eggsy open and, _holy fuck_ , Eggsy thinks he might scream when the tip of Merlin’s tongue slips inside. Large hands pin his hips to the mattress, only moving when Eggsy squirms or thrusts into empty air while his hard, leaking cock bobs against Eggsy’s stomach. More slick heat fills him, touching the depths of himself and marking Eggsy as Merlin’s—not that there was any question.  

Eggsy jerks his hips, pushing Merlin’s tongue deeper into him, and cries out, uncaring if Tilde or Kincade or the house staff happen to wander by their room at the late hour. Merlin growls in reply, the vibration sending shockwaves through Eggsy as they gently push him towards the edge. He’s amazed that he’s so close to cumming without Merlin fucking him stupid.

“Merlin,” he warns, voice and body shaking. His lover’s name sounds like a benediction on his tongue. One of Merlin’s hands wraps itself around his cock and pulls, catching Eggsy off guard in twofold—he doesn’t expect how quickly he cums or how it seems to go on. Fisting the comforter, Eggsy howls through his orgasm until he’s too dizzy from pleasure to move or make a sound. He slumps on the bed, limbs splayed with his release cooling on his skin as Merlin moves from between his legs to his thighs where he straddles them.

Even as dazed as Eggsy is, he can’t help but look at Merlin and admire his naked body as he fists his own prick and strokes the entire wet, red length of it. Twisting his fingers over his cockhead, Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and groans Eggsy’s name. He fucks into his hand, hips moving faster until Merlin shouts. Cum spurts over his knuckles, dripping down onto Eggsy’s stomach where it mixes with his own.

Eggsy watches as Merlin wrings himself dry, letting out a final moan before letting go of his cock. “You alright there?” he asks, chuckling as Merlin comes back to himself.

“What?” Merlin replies, blinking away the glazed look in his eyes.

Snorting, Eggsy pushes himself up onto his elbows and winks. “Come here, you crazy bastard,” he beckons as he reaches for Merlin’s wrist and tugs him forward for a kiss. He groans at the taste of himself on his lover’s tongue and seeks more of their combined flavor. “I know what we could spend our time doing while we wait for Tilde’s contacts or Harry to show up,” he says once they’ve parted for air.

“Oh aye?” Merlin nips at his bottom lip, then the faint birthmark on his jaw. “I think something could be arranged,” he whispers.

Eggsy hums in answer and leans against the curve of Merlin’s body. “Good. I want to see what else that magic healing cock of yours can do.”

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Merlin warns.

“What? I’m just sayin’—” he begins to argue when Merlin kisses him into silence and they fall back on the bed.

Later, much later, once they’ve exhausted themselves and have washed up, they enjoy a post-coital drowsiness as the rest of the house remains quiet. Merlin’s fingers run through Eggsy’s damp hair while Eggsy dozes. He doesn’t even care what Kincade will have to say about them sleeping in tomorrow or Tilde’s knowing giggles when she passes them in the hallways—anything is worth some time alone with Merlin.

“What if I told you,” Merlin whispers, “that I could make you a lightsaber?”

Eggsy goes from being half-asleep to fully awake in seconds. He lifts his head off Merlin’s chest, blinking at his darkened silhouette. “It wouldn’t be one of those toys you get at Tesco around the holidays?” He sees Merlin shaking his head and grins at him. “I’d say you’re the fittest bloke I’ve ever met.”

 

* * *

 

When Eggsy and Merlin finally emerge from their bedroom, they learn that one of the Tilde’s contacts has a lead, though not much more than that.

“They asked for a few more days if we can spare it,” she says over dinner.  

Eggsy and Merlin trade a look over the table before Merlin shrugs. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” he comments while he cuts his meal into neat squares. “Who might be this contact be?”

“Chatzkel Reznik, better known by his code name Champagne,” Tilde answers. “Recently forced to retire from Mossad. I’m not certain of the details; something about an illegal operation to infiltrate North Korea’s military. But he’s incredibly trustworthy.”

Kincade looks up from his teacup. “Also, an excellent trick shot.”

“His code name is _Champagne_?” Eggsy asks, dubiously.

Tilde smirks. “The unit he oversaw used alcoholic beverages as their designations,” she explains. “There was a lovely young man called Tequila about twenty years back. Never knew his real name, but we never really spoke when we saw each other if you get my drift.”

“Look at you!” Eggsy says, impressed. He nudges Kincade in his side. “Tilde here is a stone cold fox!”

“ _Usually_ ,” Tilde boasts with a wink and one of her coquettish smiles. Tilting her head, Tilde gazes at Merlin over the rim of her teacup. “There are some who are immune to my charms.”

Eggsy glances at Merlin, whose entire head has begun to turn bright pink. “ _Really_?” He looks at them and snorts back his laughter.

“How is Champ these days?” Merlin says, changing the subject. “Still with Ginger?”

“They’re married, if you can believe it,” Tilde replies as she pours more tea into her cup. “He _finally_ convinced her after fifteen years together!”

Kincade snorts into his cup. “We’ve got a largely unknown organization after you and Mr. Unwin—” he begins to complain until an insistent beeping cuts him off. Reaching for Merlin’s mobile, Kincade checks the screen and narrows his eyes.

“What? What is it?” Merlin asks.

He looks up and says, “We’ve got company.” Kincade pulls a gun from his kilt and nods at Tilde. “You know what to do.”

“What?” Eggsy rasps in panic. His eyes dart from Kincade to Tilde and, finally, to Merlin who’s busy looking at his mobile.

Tilde grabs him by the elbow and pulls Eggsy to his feet. “Come, _pojke_.”

Eggsy’s about to go with her when Merlin lets out an exasperated sigh and says, “You crazy idiot!” He pushes the mobile to the center of the table. “It’s just Harry!” Then he’s off to the front door, leaving Eggsy with Tilde and Kincade. A beat later, the three of them are rushing after Merlin, who’s already on the front steps as Harry’s unassuming white Kuga pulls up.

He comes up alongside Merlin and that’s when Eggsy notices someone in the passenger seat. Tilting his head in observation, Eggsy realizes Harry has Roxy with him. “That’s unexpected,” he whispers to Merlin.

“Indeed,” Merlin replies. They share a glance. “Stay here.”

“Nah, bruv! I’m going with you.”

Merlin seems like he might argue, but their attention goes back to Harry, who exits his vehicle looking rather pissed off as he marches over the passenger side to get Roxy. Eggsy notices how he handles her—not speaking, grabbing her the second she exits the car, pushing her towards them—and that his gun is pressed into her side. Looking exhausted and disheveled, Eggsy wonders if they’ve driven all night to get here much like Merlin had and if Harry’s current mood is anything to go by, it may be the case.

“It seems,” Harry says as he and Roxy ascend the stairs, “that Ms. Morton has something to tell us.”

Gold reflects off her forearm where the sleeve’s been rolled up; it feels like a punch to Eggsy’s gut.

 

* * *

 

Merlin finally understands what the phrase ‘seeing red’ truly means because that’s exactly what’s happening here.

From the moment he saw noticed the circle glinting off Roxy’s skin, his vision went from gold to red. Rage began to burn inside of him, slowly churning as Harry and Kincade lead the girl into the parlor. It deepened at her indifference—which, honestly, Merlin thinks he should have expected—but when she dared to look at Eggsy, the insurmountable angry boiled over.

“Out of all the stupid, irresponsible, _ridiculous_ things I’ve heard of,” Merlin yells as he stalks a small circle around them, “this takes the cake, Roxanne Morton!” He notices the downward cast of her eyes and grabs her chin, yanking it up before he has a second to think about it. “No, no, no. You’re going to listen to this!”

Roxy doesn’t say a word, though her glare conveys all Merlin needs to know.

“Do you realize what you have done?”

“I do,” she calmly replies. “But ever since we arrived, you haven’t allowed me to explain.”

Merlin slaps her across the face, stunning both himself and Roxy. Tilde gasps from the settee, her teacup pinging off the saucer, while Harry looks away, but no one jumps to her defense. Not even Eggsy, who stands next to Kincade with his arms folded over his chest.

“That wasn’t very gentlemanly,” Roxy hisses. She rubs her reddening cheek as she stares at Merlin. “Manners. Maketh. Man.”

“I’m only the Quartermaster,” he reminds her. Merlin squats down to eye-level. “The rules don’t apply to me.”

She scoffs. “So you’ll beat what I’ve got to tell you out of me?”

“If it comes to it.”

Roxy seems like she may invite Merlin and his fists to drag out all she knows about the Golden Circle, then she relents. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Merlin says. “Who recruited you, why, what other Kingsman agents are compromised…everything you inside that pretty head of yours.” He taps her temple, much to Roxy’s annoyance. “And when did they get to Igraine?”

“Igraine?” Roxy replies, confused. “Igraine was trying to help me.”

Merlin frowns. “Trying to help you?”

“To get me out,” she says.

Merlin glances at Harry, who shrugs in return, before turning back to Roxy. “From the beginning.”

“How do we know if she’s lying?” Eggsy asks, stepping forward. Merlin notices how he refuses to look at her as Eggsy comes closer. “For all we know, she could have told them exactly where we are and she’s just stalling.”

Harry pipes up. “I shot her with a tranquilizer dart and removed all potential beacons from her person,” he explains. “Then I followed the protocols Merlin and I put into place for this sort of thing. I can assure you we weren’t followed.”

“Still,” Eggsy counters. “There could be something in the underwear of her bra.” He glances at Roxy, sneering. “Though I _doubt_ that.”

“ _Excuse me_!” Roxy shouts, ready to lunge at him. Merlin pushes her back in her seat. “I’m not the only one keeping secrets, you know! Those two—” She points between Eggsy and Merlin “—are fucking!”

Eggsy rolls his eyes and says, “That ain’t news” while Harry yells, “What?”

“Not everyone, evidently,” Tilde stage-whispers to Kincade, who chuckles as Merlin says, “Harry, now is not the time.”

Harry doesn’t back down; he looks positively livid and it’s not because of Merlin fucking another man, but who he’s fucking. He imagines this is probably how Michelle would look if she were alive and Merlin was able to tell her. “Do you know how _reckless_ —”

“Not now, Harry.”

“ _Unprofessional!_ ”

“Still not a good time, Harry.”

“ _Dangerous!_ ”

“Harry! Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” Merlin shouts, holding his friend’s glare until Harry looks away with a scoff. He glances at Roxy, who has the decency to not look smug even if she feels it. “Thanks for that.”

She shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”

“It still doesn’t keep her from lying to us,” Eggsy points out.

“I have a solution for that,” Harry says as he reaches into his suit’s pocket and pulls out a familiar vial.

Merlin’s eyes widen and he curses. “Are you fucking serious? You brought _that_ with you! I’ve told you time and time again that we should have destroyed it when we had a chance!”

“And time and time again I have ignored you because _you are wrong_ ,” Harry fires back. “As usual.”

“What is that?” Roxy asks as she eyes the vial.

Merlin briefly turns to her only to say, “None of your concern” before rounding on Harry, “You call _me_ the reckless one? Look at you! Running around with that in your pocket?” He grabs the other man by the bicep and leads him several paces away. “What if she got the upper hand on you and found _that_ , hm? Don’t you think she’d hand it over to Ms. Adams the first chance she got?”

“You know her name?” Roxy says, surprised.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin nods in her direction. “We might be utterly fucked, but we’re _still_ Kingsman! It’d be good of you to remember that.” He stalks over to her, bracing himself against the armrests of the chair and effectively pins her in place. “Now, it’s either Harry forces that down your gullet or you begin telling us everything you know.”

“I have a truth serum in my purse,” Tilde offers, delightedly. “Though you have to be careful with the dosage; it tends to give people the runs.”

“Or that,” Merlin adds.

“She approached me about a year before my candidacy for Lancelot,” she begins to explain, nervously. “I think Poppy knew about Percy, but never said anything because I would ask questions and it wasn’t something she could afford.” Roxy swallows when Merlin nods for her to continue. “Poppy began as a drug runner with some cartel in Columbia—”

Tilde interjects and says, “They already know this, dear.”

Roxy glances at her, nostrils flaring as she bites back a cutting remark. “ _Fine_. The Golden Circle had a front as a charity; they donated funds to war-torn countries. Honestly, I bet they also gave money to start them. She began branching out to funding terrorist organizations, corrupt governments, crooked CEOs…”

Merlin holds up his hand. “Was Richmond Valentine one of them?”

“Yes,” Roxy answers with hesitation. “She served on his board and they collaborated a lot. The chips—”

“SIM cards,” Harry corrects.

Roxy’s head snaps to him with one of the downright nastiest expressions Merlin has seen in a while. She’s passed scared, passed annoyed, passed infuriated.  “Are you going to let me finish?”

“Shut up,” Merlin says before Harry can put his foot in his own mouth. “Yes, Roxy, you may continue.”

“The SIM cards were originally her idea and the problem was Poppy didn’t know how to execute it. Her background was pharmaceutical engineering. It’s not to slouch at, but it’s certainly not what you need to make people give into their primal urges when a certain pitch is met,” Roxy says. “So Charlie…”

Eggsy comes up behind Merlin, the lad’s heavy breathing filling the room. “Charlie? Charlie Hesketh?” When Roxy nods, Eggsy mutters a curse. “How did she get him out of MCTC? Did either of them tell you?”

“No, I don’t…” she stammers, shaking her head. “How do _you_ know him?”

“That isn’t important,” Merlin says. “What happened with Charlie? Did he suggest to find someone to help them?”

Roxy keeps her eyes on Eggsy, her expression unreadable. “Not just someone, Richmond Valentine. And only him.”

“Where there any other people that might have been on a shortlist?”

“No. It was Richmond Valentine or nothing at all,” Roxy answers, looking at Merlin. “He loved the idea, of course, because, well…it fell in the line of what he wanted to do. Save the planet.”

Eggsy makes a scornful sound. “Save the planet? That’s what he wanted?”

“It sounded insane, even to me,” Roxy agrees. She draws her teeth over her bottom lip and looks at her hands folded in her lap. “That’s why I wanted out,” she says more quietly.

“You wanted out?” Merlin glances at Harry, noticing the same uncertainty he’s feeling except Harry’s never been good at a poker face. “How were you going to do that?”

Roxy shrugs. “I told Igraine. Everything, because I knew she was working on the Valentine case and would be interacting with Poppy indirectly, if not otherwise.”

“Then you sold my mum out!” Eggsy shouts, getting ready to attack.

“I would never…she was trying to gather enough evidence to bring to MI6 because we knew Kingsman was compromised,” Roxy shouts back. “I had introduced them and Poppy made her the offer to join, which Igraine did. Poppy knew she was connected to powerful people who could be swayed for the right dollar amount. And she liked Igraine—she was sharp and resourceful, not to mention loyal. The kind of person Poppy wanted in her ranks.” A sob escapes her and wipes her cheeks. “Igraine never betrayed Kingsman! She was only trying to help me by stopping Poppy and ending all of this. She was going to tell you and Harry because she said we could trust the two of you, but Poppy found out.”

Something clicks inside of Merlin’s head. “Poppy was the one who murdered Valentine,” he surmises. “And found out that his computer had been compromised and put the pieces together. That’s how she figured out Igraine had played her false.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Roxy whimpers. “But Poppy told me what happened and that she was going to take care of it.”

“Why didn’t you stop it?” Harry asks.

Roxy shakes her head. “I tried! I phoned Igraine on the burner mobile she had, but it was too late. The shooting began and the line went dead.” She looks at Eggsy, pleadingly. “Do you remember her stepping into another room to take a call the night she was murdered?”

“She was making popcorn; her, me, and Dean were going to watch a movie,” Eggsy replies, his brow furrowed as he recalls that night.

“It would have happened minutes before,” Roxy says. “A quick phone call and then they came in. She must have already had a weapon on her…”

Merlin notices Eggsy’s eyes widen. “She had a gun,” he whispers. “And another in her back pocket.”

“Because _she knew_ they were coming.” More tears spill down Roxy’s cheeks. “ _I_ told her they were coming.”

“That’s why…” Eggsy says, stunned. “That’s why…the medallion…” His eyes meet Merlin’s and it all comes together.

Michelle hid something, but not on the medallion. That was only a stepping stone in finding what she had. It was something bigger than either Harry or Merlin, even Roxy, could dream of. Bigger than recon files and mission reports or grainy photographs. Something that would set a detonator on the foundations of Poppy Adam’s empire and the Golden Circle, thus exposing them with an explosion.

There would be nothing. All of her hard work, planning, and careful considerations—gone.

“Kincade,” Merlin calls, his gaze never leaving Eggsy’s face. He recalled Michelle making a stop in France while accompanying Valentine and his assistant, though the location he cannot recall. To drop something off, she had said before they spoke about the Valentine case. “When was the last time _Bonheur_ had visitors?”

The old man scratches his beard as he thinks. “Come to think of it,” he says. “Michelle was here not long ago. I’d say ‘bout three months, give or take. She didn’t even stay the night; went straight into the cellars and came out with two bottles of _Bonheur’s_ finest.”

Merlin looks from Eggsy to Harry and back to Eggsy before all three exclaim, “Cellar!”

They take off with Harry ordering Kincade and Tilde to keep an eye on Roxy. Merlin leads them to the cellar door which he always thought was a monstrosity not needed store whiskey. He grabs the latch and lifts, watching as the barrier falls open and cool air drifts out.

“That’s fucking creepy,” Eggsy says as Merlin feels around walls for the light switch and flicks it on. A warm glow fills the corridor, revealing row after row of whiskey barrels. “Still fucking creepy, bruv.”

“Creepy or not, we must find what your mother left for us,” Harry reminds him and goes in first.

Merlin and Eggsy watch him, then turn to each other. “After you,” Merlin says. He bites back a chuckle at the sour look on the lad’s face and files in behind him.

“How will we ever know where to start looking?” Eggsy asks. “Or which bottles Mum took because I’ve got to tell you, Merlin, this—” He taps his finger on a dusty decanter “—is _a lot_ of fucking whiskey.”

“Kincade said _Bonheur’s_ finest, which tastes like horse piss if you’re asking me and resides back here,” Merlin begins as Eggsy follows him. They come to a wall of shelves housing bottles upon bottles of whiskey and Harry searching through them. “It’s a blended malt that my great-uncle developed. Kincade has the recipe if there would be a need for it to be produced, but luckily, there is _plenty_ of the crap.”

Eggsy peers at one of the handwritten labels. “ _Stash Èiginn_ ,” he says, confused. “What does it mean?”

“Emergency Stash,” Merlin deadpans and pretends not to hear Harry snorting back his laughter. “My family’s always had an interesting sense of humor. Let us take a look then.”

“I guess it’s a relief that mum wasn’t…” Eggsy begins to say a few minutes later. Merlin turns to him, noting the thin layer of dust covering his hands and the bit that’s been smudged on one cheek. If he wasn’t filthy as well, he would reach other and rub it off. His lover looks at him, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and swallows hard. “She wasn’t one of them. Not really.”

Merlin sadness pangs his chest as he nods. “No. She was trying to do the right thing.”

“Stop it, you two!” Harry grouses from down a ways.

“We’re not even doing anything, you daft cow!” Merlin shouts back.

Harry appears from behind another stack and walks over with a bottle in his hand. “Good,” he says. “Because, really, Hamish? Michelle’s _son_? You’re sleeping with _Michelle’s son_!”

“Who is a consenting adult,” Eggsy grouses.

“ _Who is our colleague’s son_!” Harry reminds the lad. “And a witness to their murder. Developing personal attachments are dangerous and could get us killed in this game. You are well aware of this!”

Eggsy grabs the bottle out of Harry’s hands and snarls, “Are you trying to say that my mum would still be alive if she hadn’t tried to save me?”

“She would come back from the dead to kill me if I even inferred it! I’m talking about this.” Harry gestures between them and frowns when he notices Eggsy ignoring him as he examines the bottle. “If one of our enemies knew about your association with the boy, they could exploit it!”

Merlin drops his head into his palms. “ _Association_ ,” he grumbles, thinking the words feel like ash on his tongue. This thing between him and Eggsy has never been an association. “It’s not an association,” he states and looks his friend in the eye. “It’s a _relationship_ , Harry.”

A bottle shatters on the ground, causing all three men to jump.

“We’re in a relationship?” Eggsy asks, sounding surprised.

Merlin suddenly feels as if he’s under a microscope, which isn’t being helped by Harry acting like a nagging cunt, and turns to Eggsy. His lover stands in the middle of spilled whiskey and broken glass, looking so utterly beautiful that there’s only one answer. “Well…yes,” he says. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy replies, his eyes bright with amusement and laughter tumbling from his mouth. God, Merlin could kiss him right then and there; they’re standing close enough to, anyway.

Except there’s Harry being a prat and ruining an otherwise romantic, memorable moment. “This is _not_ the time for this sort of conversation!” he complains. “We’re trying to find whatever Michelle left for us if Roxy is telling the truth.”

“If she isn’t, we’ll let Kincade use her as target practice,” Merlin says as he holds out his hand to assist Eggsy as he steps out of the glass shards.

“You’re not serious,” Eggsy tells him, alarmed.

Merlin shrugs. “It _has_ been a while since he’s had a live target,” he continues. “I think the prospect would make him rather happy.” He feels the heat of Eggsy’s stare on him and turns, finding himself looking at his lover’s scowl. “What?”

“You can’t just have Kincade go shoot people!” Eggsy exclaims.

“Well, Roxy has better told us the truth,” Harry says as he continues the search.

Eggsy glances at Merlin, eyes widening in worry. “He’s not being serious,” Merlin assures.

“Oh yes, _I am_ ,” Harry counters.

Merlin scrubs his hand over his face and groans. “Harry, _please_!” He regards Eggsy and sighs. “Just ignore him when he’s gotten his knickers in a bunch.” His fingers brush against his lover’s, entwining them. “Come; let’s see what your mother left for us.”

The dampness and dust of the cellar settle into Merlin’s bones and his clothing by the time Eggsy finds something. Where two bottles of whiskey once made their homes resides a USB flash drive gathering dust. “This doesn’t look like it belongs here,” Eggsy says as he passes the device to Merlin.

“No, it does not,” he replies as he inspects it.

Harry comes up alongside him looking as grungy as the rest of them. “Good work, Eggsy,” he says, wiping at his dust-covered waistcoat. “Shall we see what’s on it?”

“One problem,” Merlin tells them as he inspects the drive more closely. It’s a simple black rectangle containing no logo with the same gold used on their emblem coating the stick.

“What problem?” Harry asks. He’s still trying to get the dust out of his clothing and failing miserably. Hopefully, Anastasie can work some of her magic or Harry will be pitching a fit later. “On top of the ones we’re already facing.”

Merlin glowers at him. “This device is one of ours and designed only unlock with the owner’s DNA. If not, the contents of the USB will be erased, but we have Eggsy.”

“And he’s Michelle’s son,” Harry realizes.

They turn to Eggsy, who takes a step back like they’re going to attack him. His eyes convey how hopelessly lost he feels, turning from mossy green to a piercing jade that Merlin can see clearly despite the horrible lighting down here. Merlin watches as Eggsy reaches out to take the USB, weighing the unassuming device in his palm. Sadness weighs down the lad’s entire face and its then Merlin realizes it’s one of the last things Michelle touched.

“I remember this,” he says softly as he runs his thumb over the smooth plastic. “Mum was working on something for…” Merlin notices how Eggsy has to stop himself from referring to Michelle’s cover. “We were sitting on the couch with the telly on and she decided to make us a cuppa. When the drive beeped, she asked me to pull it out.”

Merlin sucks in a breath and thinks of how bloody brilliant Michelle was. How she knew the possibility of her death and made sure Kingsman would access to the information through her son. How she stood in this exact spot, literally weeks ago, and exchanged the USB for two bottles of whiskey because she knew _Bonheur_ would be the safest place to hide it. Michelle had realized that leaving it in Kingsman custody was too obvious and could bring Poppy Adams to their front door.

And she couldn’t very well keep it in her own flat with her husband and Eggsy living with her; it was too dangerous and reckless.   

“She made sure your DNA was on it,” Harry says, gently. “Your mother wanted to make sure we had a Plan B.”

“And it’s me. Shit luck, if you think about it,” Eggsy replies, soundly faraway.

Merlin wants to pull him into a hug and hold Eggsy against his chest until their breathing syncs into one. Until the downward pull in his expression melts away and that smile of his—the cheeky curl of his lips and sweetness that causes Merlin to fall headlong into anything, _anything_ , Eggsy wants—to return. Until the Circle Golden turns into fragments and Kingsman comes out as the victor. Until it’s just him and Eggsy, free of this chaos.

He touches Eggsy’s bicep, running his knuckles down the fabric of his shirt and smiles. Eggsy gives him one back and asks, “Shall we what she’s got for us?”


	10. Chapter 10

Tilde waits for them at the top of the cellar staircase when they emerge covered in dust and blinking at the brighter lights of the house.

She wrinkles her nose in distaste the instant she sees them, while she, herself, stands there looking impeccable. “Fieldwork,” she says, unimpressed. “I don’t miss it.”

“Not even a little?” Merlin teases.

“Not even an _iota_ ,” Tilde replies as she flicks a bit of dust off his shoulder. “Have you found what you were looking for.”

Merlin nods. “We have. And you? Any news to tell us?”

“Champagne and Ginger shall be joining us later this evening,” Tilde says as they start walking. She glances behind her to see Eggsy and his worn out expression before regarding Merlin. “One of his men, Jack, was found with a golden circle on his forearm and Champ didn’t hesitate to kill him.”

He grimaces and shakes his head. “They’re like cockroaches. Everywhere when you least expect them.” Merlin squints at Tilde. “Where’s Roxy?”

“I left her with Kincade. I thought that by spending a few minutes with the crazy bastard, it would frighten her a bit,” Tilde replies, sounding more delighted than she ought to.

“Jesus,” Merlin groans. “You were probably better off by leaving her chained up somewhere!”

Tilde rolls her eyes. “She is only a child in a war she doesn’t fully understand. I have asked Anastasie to prepare Ms. Morton and Mr. Harry something to eat. Finding them beds would probably be ideal as well,” she says. “After all, it would be a shame to lose your manners.”

“Harry can stay in his usual room. As for Roxy, there’s a guest room near Kincade’s that has reinforced windows and locks; she won’t be able to leave no matter how much she tries,” Merlin tells her. “I think he might have added electrical shocks for effect, but you’ll have to ask him.”

Tilde’s face brightens with her mischievous smirk. “Kincade,” she says, wistfully. “That brilliant bastard!”

“While a meal and shower would be lovely, I believe it’s pertinent that we view the contents of the USB,” Harry interjects. He addresses Eggsy with a soft grin and says, “If you are prepared to do so.”

Eggsy looks down at the USB in his hand and shrugs. “You know what they say about band-aids.”

“Come. My laptop is in our bedroom, but we should check on Roxy to make sure Kincade hasn’t shot bullets through her yet,” Merlin tells them as he leads the way towards the sound of Kincade’s infernally loud voice. “Like a bloody air raid siren,” he mutters to himself.

Harry brushes passed him, hands trying to smooth out the wrinkles of his dress shirt. “Please, Hamish. You’re being far too forgiving.”

In the parlor, they come upon the scene of a lively debate between Kincade and Roxy, who sits with her arms folded over her chest. “With all due respect, if you want a gun that’s compact _and_ still does maximum damage when fired, it’s the TT-30 with the double shotgun barrel!” she tells him.

“A TT-30? Lassie, are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Kincade snarls, his face turning red. “Compact my arse! You’d be better off walkin’ ‘round with a Ruger SR9C or a Beretta M9.”

Roxy rolls her eyes and sighs. “Did you not hear when I said _double shotgun barrel_?”

“Aye, I heard you, but I think you’re full of shit!” Kincade turns to them and raises an eyebrow. “You three look ridiculous.”

Merlin scoffs. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” he mutters as he gestures for Roxy to stand up. “ _You_ , you’re coming with us.” She goes without argument, frowning when Kincade goes to stand behind her. Merlin nods his thanks to the old man and leaves the parlor for his bedroom.

“Must be somethin’ good if we’re all comin’ to see,” Kincade says.

“Something useful,” Merlin says, keeping his answers vague in case if Roxy to playing them false. “I hope,” he adds, glancing at Eggsy who clutches the USB in his fist.

He looks nervous and who can blame him? Merlin has no idea what message or information lies on the USB and if it will give Eggsy the answers he’s been seeking. There is a chance that it could make thing worse for the lad, though Merlin hopes that isn’t the case. He also hopes that Michelle will have left them something to help stop Poppy Adams from whatever she’s planning and remove the price from Eggsy’s head.

Merlin brushes his fingers against Eggsy’s forearm, feeling the dust particles clinging to the small, light hairs on his freckled skin. He thinks he could paint constellations with them and whisper their names for only he and Eggsy to hear.

“She’s going to have a message for me,” Eggsy tells him suddenly. He runs his teeth over his bottom lip and shrugs. “That’s usually how these things go, right? Last words and all.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know how this will go, Eggsy, but I do know that it’s nothing like the movies.”

“Bet it’s fucking worse than,” Eggsy mumbles as they stop in front of the bedroom door. His jaw tenses so hard that it hurts to look at it.

Merlin notices him squeezing the USB and dares to reach out to cover Eggsy’s fist with his hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, softly.

Eggsy shakes his head and swallows, the column of his throat moving in a slow, hard roll. “I know, but I want answers,” he replies, pushing the door open. “She owes me that much.”

Together they cross the threshold.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy listens to Merlin shooing the rest of the group out of the bedroom while he stares at the laptop’s screen.

His fingers drum, nervously, against the desk’s polished surface and silently thinks it’s a mercy that he doesn’t have to do _this_ —see what his mum left behind—in front of the lot of them. The moment will be incredibly emotional for him, not to mention private and he doesn’t want someone like Harry Hart leering about, looking like a bug’s crawled up his arse. Granted, Roxy outing him and Merlin was a low blow and sent Harry into a tizzy about decorum and common decency which is fucking laughable coming from a wanker like him. He’s probably done _everything_ by the book and doesn’t have a rebellious bone in his body. How he and Merlin could be friends is a mystery…

The door clicks shut, earning Eggsy’s attention as he turns towards Merlin. “Did Harry blow his lid?”

“No more than usual,” the other man answers. “Tilde will talk some sense into him while we’re in here and if not, she’ll use excessive force.”

He chuckles in disbelief—or rather, belief—because he wouldn’t put it passed Tilde to pistol whip someone like Harry if they were to get on her nerves. “What a ragtag lot we make,” Eggsy says as Merlin takes a seat next to him. “And it’s our duty to save the world.”

“I’d say there have been worse odds,” Merlin assures. He slides the USB over to Eggsy and pats it. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Eggsy stares at the device for a long while, wondering what the small plastic thing contains and if he wants to know. Part of him wants to tell Merlin to handle it while he goes to wait with the others, then he remembers that he wants answers. He _needs_ them.

“Remember to keep your thumb pressed onto the flattest edge,” Merlin reminds him. His hand rubs circles between Eggsy’s shoulder blades. “It will be alright.”

With a heavy sigh, Eggsy picks up the USB and says, “Ready or not.” Pushing it into the port, he presses his thumb against the reader while the laptop scans the device. He braces himself for a surprise pinprick or heat burn because that’s what he’s seen in spy movies. Those slick gadgets with unorthodox ways to ensure the right person has the package.

Or kill them, depending if it’s _that_ type of movie.

Four boxes appear before begin numbers rolling through one until they stop and turn into a blacked-out circle then move to the next. Eggsy feels his heart pounding inside of the cavity of his chest, so wild and fearful that he wonders if Merlin can hear it. Most of all, he wonders what he’ll find once the USB unlocks and reveals what his mum left behind.

Clearly information they’ll need to bring down the Golden Circle; that’s a given. That’s why he, Merlin, and Harry dug around in the bowels of _Bonheur_ for nearly an hour, after all.

But what Eggsy really wants more than anything is an explanation directly from _her_ : why she joined them in her own words, why she kept it a secret, why she did all of these things…and if she is proud of him. Thinking about it makes his eyes sting, enough for him to forget about the laptop until it beeps at him and Merlin.

A directory filled with neatly organized folders appears in front of them. “Well shit,” Merlin whispers in amazement as he leans in for a closer look.

“What is it?” Eggsy asks as he watches Merlin open a folder and scan through the contents. “Is it Valentine’s computer?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No,” he says after a bit; it sounds like a gasp. “It’s Poppy Adam’s.” He clicks on another folder and another. “It’s _everything_.”

“Everything?” Eggsy repeats, quietly.

“Everything,” Merlin says. “And more.”

Eggsy trembles all over; _this_ is what Poppy came after his mum for. Every brick in the structure of the Golden Circle is on this USB and his mum had it in her possession. “What do we do with it?”

“Your mum left us a backdoor into Poppy’s servers,” Merlin explains as he continues poking through the USB. “I think she figured that with malware, we could destroy everything she has and in return, render the Golden Circle useless.” Merlin leans back in his seat, tapping his fingers against his thighs. “The entire organization would collapse, especially if we revealed the identities of its members. They would turn on each other and implode.”

Eggsy deflates as he breathes out. “And I would be safe.” The words come out hollow because that’s how he feels after all. Hollow and exhausted, bone-weary. Like he could pull a Rip Van Winkle and sleep for one hundred years and still need more.

“You would be,” Merlin says. “There wouldn’t be a target on your back once we did this.”

“What about Roxy? What will happen to her?”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably and Eggsy already knows he won’t like the answer. “I’m not entirely sure. She would be taken into Kingsman custody and from there, it’s up to Arthur and the Round Table to decide what will happen to her.”

He closes his eyes and shudders, the whimper in his throat rattling loose. Eggsy digs his fingers into his palms, not even flinching as they cut the skin, and tries to remember to breathe. “It never ends,” he whispers as Merlin’s warm hand clasps his nape. Eggsy opens his eyes and looks at him. “Not really.”

“No,” Merlin says as he cups Eggsy’s cheek. “It doesn’t.” He caresses him with his thumb, his eyes glinting back in sympathy. “There’s something else.” He moves, scrolling down the directory until he stops at a video file titled _Eggsy_. “I think this may be for you.”

Eggsy can’t tell if it’s a sob or laughter that bubbles up from his mouth. “What gave you that idea?” he replies, trying to lighten the somber mood. Between his tears and the shakiness of his voice, his attempt falls flat; very flat.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Merlin whispers as he stands. He squeezes Eggsy’s shoulder and ruffles his hair. “If you need anything…”

“You’ll be outside,” Eggsy finishes. He glances at Merlin and nods. “I know.”

With a tight smile, Merlin leaves the room. The second the door shuts, Eggsy’s trembling hand is already on the mouse and clicking on the file. He shouldn’t be surprised when the window pops up to reveal his mum’s face— _he really shouldn’t_ —because that’s how these things go. Eggsy even said it himself not all that long ago and, now here he is, staring at his prediction. He touches the screen, tracing over his mum’s face and how she used to look before that terrible night. How she was coiffed, but never too done up. How she was always approachable and friendly; guileless even.

He remembers everything about her, but it had been a facade. The realization sends a tidal wave of emotion through Eggsy and suddenly, he can’t breathe. Crying out loud enough for the others to hear, he buries his face in his hands and sobs. Sobs until tears burn his cheeks and roll into the collar of his jumper. Sobs until he feels like there’s a vise in his chest and he’s gasping.

He hasn’t properly mourned her or Dean; there’s been too much at stake, too many threats on his life to take a moment to shed a few tears in private.

“Why did you do it?” Eggsy asks the video still before clicking play.

The picture—his own mum—moves, smiling nervously at the camera. “Eggsy,” she says, her voice so clear, so much like the way he remembers that new tears fill his eyes. He wipes them away with a choked sound. “If you’re watching this, you must have so many questions.”

Through his snot-tear-filled laugh, Eggsy says back, “How did you guess?”

In the end, she elaborates on what he already knows. It’s interesting to hear about his mum’s decision to join Kingsman from her perspective; it’s even better just to hear her voice. “I know it’ll be hard for you to understand all of this,” she tells him. “And you must be so angry! I deserve that. I have lied to you for over fifteen years and I won’t even try to excuse it by saying it was for your own good. Or that it was to keep you safe because the moment I accepted Merlin’s offer, I put both of our lives—and Dean’s—at risk.”

His mum shifts in her seat and moves closer to the camera. The footage is so clear that it’s as if she’s truly sitting across from Eggsy. “I _knew_ what I was getting myself into, but you, Eggsy, are innocent in all of this,” she tells him. “Merlin and Harry will know what to do with the contents of the USB. And my little egg, please trust them; even if you want to punch Harry in his posh face—and you _will_ —trust them.” Her eyes glisten with tears, which she’s quick to brush away. “I’m sorry I failed you. Please forgive me.”

The screen goes black.

Eggsy blinks, feeling dazed as he collects himself. Perhaps numb is a better word for it; his tears have dried up, though he’s certain that he probably couldn’t shed anymore if he wanted to. Running his hands over his jeans, Eggsy reaches for the mouse and closes the video because replaying it won’t do him any good. He doesn’t want to remember his mum that way. Standing up, Eggsy sucks in a deep breath and goes to face everyone else. He doesn’t care if they notice the redness in his eyes or his stained cheeks; if they say a word about it, they can fuck off as far as he’s concerned.

It’s entirely unsurprising to find Merlin and the others pacing in the hallway, only stopping when the door creaks open. All of their expectant stares make Eggsy’s cheek flush, the attention overwhelming. They must wonder what his mum told him, but no one asks.

Clearing his throat, Eggsy says, “Are we going to stand around here all day, or are we going to fight?”

 

* * *

 

“Aren’t you two assholes a sight for sore eyes!” a man’s voice calls from across the room.

Merlin glances up at Eggsy and Harry, who looks like he’s already beginning to regret inviting Champagne along, and turns to greet him. “Champ,” he says, extending his hand. Why he’s shocked that Champagne pulls him into a bone-crushing hug is beyond him; Merlin ought to be used to the boisterous man by now. “Always a pleasure,” he wheezes. “Where’s Ginger?”

Champagne gestures behind him. “Shop talk with Tilde,” he says. He nods at Harry, mischief glinting his eyes as he shakes the other man’s hand. “Harry, it’s been a while.”

“Never long enough,” Harry replies, clearly remembering the last time he was in Champagne’s company. It had been a joint venture between Kingsman and Mossad, which resulted in them disbanding a terrorist cell in Turkey and two bullet holes in Harry’s arse.

The other man laughs jovially and slaps Harry on the back. “Still mad about your ass, I take it?” Champagne teases. “Hasn’t anyone told you that chicks dig scars?”

Merlin coughs in an attempt to disguise his chuckle because nothing is funnier than Harry getting riled up. He hears Eggsy’s snickers and sees that Champagne has noticed him. The other man raises his eyebrows, partially in curiosity and paranoia; it’s what all spies do. “I don’t believe you’ve met Eggsy Unwin,” Merlin says.

“We haven’t had the pleasure,” Champagne replies. He extends his hand and shakes Eggsy’s, still sizing the lad up. “Tilde’s told me a little about you. Igraine’s son, eh?”

Eggsy glances at Merlin before nodding. “That’d be me,” he says carefully.

“Don’t stand on ceremony!” Champagne tells Eggsy as he pulls him into another one of his hugs, ignoring the lad’s yelp. “We’re all friends here, right, Merlin?”

Merlin smirks. “I think you’re choking him,” he deadpans.

“Oh.” Champagne lets go of Eggsy and pats his back “No harm done!”

Eggsy glares at the other man as he rolls his shoulders and straightens himself out. “Says you,” he grouses quietly.

“So what are we looking at?” Champagne strolls over to the makeshift work area and surveys the laptop, maps of _Bonheur_ , and handwritten inventory of weapons.

Harry clears his throat. “It seems that the Golden Circle is making another attempt at global domination, but on their own. After the Valentine debacle, they didn’t want to take chances,” he explains. He pulls up information on the laptop and turns it towards Champagne. “Except they didn’t expect one of our agents to infiltrate them and take the ingredients to the antidote.”

“Sending out tainted drugs and bartering with governments for the antidote,” Champagne comments. “Clever, very clever if it worked. What else do we have?”

“Passcodes to all of their drones, names of their members, locations of safe houses, bank accounts,” Merlin says as he comes over to them. “You’d think that Ms. Adams would keep this information better protected.” He hears Eggsy’s snort. “It does give us an advantage; we have what she wants.”

Champagne scratches his head. “What about the girl?” he asks, referring to Roxy.

“She’ll be dealt with,” Harry answers.

“But Kingsman will take into consideration that despite her serious lack of judgment, she was assisting Igraine in foiling the Golden Circle at the time of Igraine’s death,” Merlin adds while shooting Harry a glare.

The other man turns to Eggsy. “And what do you think of all this?” Champagne says to him.

“I have shit luck,” the lad replies, much to Champagne’s amusement.

Champagne walks over to a decanter of whiskey and pours some into a glass as he laughs. “Shit luck,” he repeats. He drinks and hums in appreciation. “That’s one way to put it, kiddo.”

“He’s not what I expected,” Eggsy says later on, voice low enough for only Merlin to hear. He glances over his shoulder at Harry and Champagne as they pour over the information Michelle left them on the USB.

Merlin shrugs. “Spies never are.” He doesn’t tell him it’s the nature of the job or that he, himself, is any different from his colleagues.

“True. I thought you were going to be a posh wanker like Harry,” Eggsy confesses with a grin. He leans in, close enough for Merlin to smell the soap on his skin and the spiciness of his aftershave. “Glad I was wrong.”

Their pinkies brush against each other and Merlin grins back. “I am as well,” he whispers, wanting desperately to close the distance between them to kiss Eggsy’s lush mouth, but he can already hear Harry’s complaints ringing his ears. Merlin reckons that it’ll take a while for his friend to get over the fact that he and Eggsy are together. Harry, if anything, is a stickler for protocol which Merlin broke from the moment he gave into his attraction, not to mention an utter wanker when he wants to be. Harry will get over it as he always does and finds something else to complain about it.

Staring into the greens of Eggsy’s eyes, Merlin can’t bring himself to regret any of it. He could fall into those mossy pools and submerge himself in their warmth. He notices Eggsy leaning closer until Merlin feels the soft brush of lips against the corner of his mouth and before Harry notices, which he does.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry groans over Champagne’s hearty laughter. “Can’t it wait until we’re not in the imminent danger of being killed?”

Eggsy turns to Harry and shrugs. “You’re all business and no fun,” he says before looking at Merlin and winking. “He’s no fun.”

“Who’s no fun?” Ginger asks as she comes into the parlor. She wipes her glasses with a handkerchief and puts them back on.

Harry bristles. “Mr. Unwin was inferring that I am all business and no play,” he replies, kissing both of Ginger’s cheeks. “Hello, darling. It’s good to see you.”

“He just doesn’t know you very well,” Ginger teases before coming over to Merlin and giving him a hug. “You look like you need a vacation.”

Merlin nods. “We all do,” he agrees. He gestures to Eggsy. “This is Eggsy Unwin.”

“The one who thinks Harry has a silver spoon shoved up his arse,” Eggsy says as he shakes Ginger’s hand. He grins when Ginger laughs at his statement, leaving Harry chagrined and Merlin rolling his eyes.

“Personal differences aside, Tilde showed me what we’re working with,” Ginger says as she walks over to her husband and peruses over the maps. “It’s not an ideal situation, but we can make it work.”

Champagne drapes an arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. “You’ll make anything work,” he tells her, beaming with pride. “That’s why you’re the brains of this operation.”

She playfully scoffs at him, hugging herself to her husband. “I would like to keep the chateau in one piece, so we’ll need to think carefully about how we want to approach this. Tilde mentioned that Igraine left us a backdoor to the Golden Circle’s servers.”

“She did,” Merlin replies. “What are you thinking?”

Ginger shrugs nonchalantly. “We attack their servers,” she states. “I can send a virus through the backdoor and destroy everything; I doubt they’ve had the foresight to make hard copies of their files since we’re in the technology age. We can further compromise them by releasing the members’ names. It can’t be a secret organization if it’s out in the open.”

“It doesn’t stop them from killing us!” Eggsy exclaims, nervously. He has his arms wrapped around his middle when Merlin turns to him. “And I don’t know about you lot, but I’d like to stay alive, thanks.”

Merlin nods in understanding as he touches Eggsy’s bicep with his fingers. “We need to draw Poppy out,” he says. “Get her in our crosshairs on our terms. If her servers are wiped she’ll have no choice but to expose herself.”

“Can’t we go to her?” Eggsy asks.

“Too dangerous,” he replies. “Once we dismantle the Golden Circle, there’ll be a feeding frenzy and we won’t be up against just her, but other people looking for blood.” He clasps Eggsy’s arms. “It’s better if we control the scenario.”

Eggsy flinches at hearing this. “This isn’t a scenario, Merlin. It’s _my life_ and I want it back.”

“And we’ll get it back,” Merlin assures. “You need to trust us and if not all of us, me. I made you a promise, didn’t I?” He watches Eggsy nod. “I intend on keeping it. For you and for your mum; you have my word.”

Eggsy lets out a shaky sigh and leans into the semicircle of Merlin’s arms until he’s pressed into his chest, breathing slowly. Tightening his embrace, Merlin rests his chin on top of his lover’s head and looks at the others. “We need to go through the list to see what other Kingsman agents are members and warn the rest.”

“Agreed,” Harry says. “We can attend to it while you take Eggsy back to your room so he may rest. He’s had a trying few days.”

Merlin doesn’t even hear one of Eggsy’s sharp retorts, which only shows him how tired the lad must be. He suspects tonight will be a late one filled with hacking computer systems and covering their tracks. Honestly, Eggsy’s presence isn’t required and it would probably bore him to death. With a quick glance to Harry, Merlin nods and says, “I’ll be down later.”

Harry dismisses them with a wave as he turns to Ginger and Champagne to discuss logistics.

Unwrapping himself from Eggsy, Merlin takes the lad by the hand and leads him back to their room. He hears Kincade thumping about as they ascend the stairs, though Merlin isn’t really keen on finding out what the old man is up to. If he had to guess, probably polishing his guns or counting the grenades Merlin pretends aren’t on the property.

Eggsy slips his arm around Merlin’s waist, hugging himself to him as they walk. “Harry’s right about one thing,” he mumbles. “I’m fucking knackered.”

“We’ll get you washed up and put to bed then,” Merlin tells him.

“You’ll stay for a bit?”

Merlin smiles at the request. “Of course. Besides, Ginger knows what she’s doing and she certainly doesn’t need me hovering over her when she has Harry to do it for me.” They arrive at their room and he pushes the door open. “In you go,” Merlin orders, softly. Eggsy chuffs at the request, but goes inside, dragging Merlin with him.

Together they strip off their dust-smeared clothes and head into the bathroom where Merlin starts the shower while Eggsy brushes his teeth. He joins him once the water’s hot enough, grinning as Eggsy swats his arse as he walks to the stall. He spits toothpaste foam into the sink and washes it down the drain. “I thought you were fucking knackered,” Merlin teases.

“Do you really think I could get it up tonight?” Eggsy squawks over the shower. He opens the glass door, looking gorgeous with his hair plastered down to his head and water dripping from his skin. “I’d probably fall asleep while we were shagging!”

Merlin snorts, thinking it’s very unlikely that would happen—he’d make damn sure it wouldn’t—as he joins Eggsy inside the shower stall. “Perhaps on this holiday you mentioned we’d go on,” he says, resting his hands on his lover’s hips and chases droplets of water with his mouth. “Malta, wasn’t it?”

“Mykonos,” Eggsy corrects. He reaches for the shampoo, pouring some into his hand before lathering up his hair. “Always wanted to go to Greece. Have you ever been?”

“Several times,” Merlin says as he buries his hands into Eggsy’s hair and massages the shampoo into the short strands. “During my gap year—I did an entire tour of the country. Drank and ate my way through it, honestly.” Eggsy chuckles at this. “And for work. Dunk your head.”

Once the last bubble has been rinsed down the drain, Eggsy intones, “Gap year. Going into the Marines was mine. I don’t think mum was too keen on the idea at first.”

“Oh, she wasn’t,” Merlin tells him as they begin washing their bodies. He notices his lover’s expression and chuckles. “Are you surprised that she spoke about you?”

Eggsy shrugs. “A bit. I’d thought she would pretend I didn’t exist while she was at work—compartmentalizing or whatever.”

“She kept a picture of you in her office and we’d chat about you sometimes,” Merlin says, remembering the many conversations he had with Michelle. He had glanced at the framed photograph more times than he could count, watching haphazardly as Eggsy grew from a boy to a man. “Your mum was worried that you’d think she would be disappointed that you didn’t have a life plan.”

His lover shakes his head. “Nah, I wasn’t worried about that. School wasn’t for me at the time; I needed some adventure in my life. More responsibility, you know?”

“I’d say that the Marines would certainly give one more responsibility,” Merlin confides as they wash off together. He notices the droop of Eggsy’s eyelids and decides they should make quick work of themselves before the lad becomes too tired.

Once they’re clean and the water’s been shut off, Merlin and Eggsy dry themselves before venturing into the bedroom where they dress in silence. “What would we do in Mykonos?” he asks as he pulls back the comforter and sheets for them to get under.

“Eat, drink, take one of those bicycle tours around the island,” Eggsy tells him as he falls onto the mattress and makes himself comfortable. “Check out the windmills and walk along the beaches. Shag every morning and night because we’re on holiday.”

Merlin smirks. “Of course,” he says as he gets into bed alongside Eggsy and pulls over the linens over them once he’s turned off the last remaining light. The mattress dips when his lover comes to him, slotting his body against Merlin’s and resting his head on his shoulder. “One must shag while on holiday with their significant other.”

Eggsy’s warm breath curls through his t-shirt and touches the skin underneath. “Maybe we could go to the other islands? Santorini must be nice, too.”

“We can do whatever you please,” Merlin whispers into Eggsy’s damp hair. “I daresay you and I have earned ourselves a _very long_ holiday after this…unless if you already had plans.”

“A long nap,” Eggsy answers with a yawn. He shifts in the dark. “We can take one of those on holiday, yeah?”

Merlin kisses his temple, nodding. “We can take more than one; could set time aside every day just to relax in bed. Just you, me, and the water crashing outside our window.”

Eggsy yawns again. “Maybe we should move there,” he suggests, tiredly. Merlin notices Eggsy’s pauses becoming longer as sleep begins to claim him. “You could work remotely while I ran a bar off the beach. I can get you one of those straw hats to protect your head.”

“Only if I don’t end up wearing one of those awful Tommy Bahama shirts,” Merlin grouses.

“Not your style?”

“Definitely not.”

His lover hums in reply as he snakes a hand under the hem of Merlin’s shirt. Eggsy rubs his stomach while they lie together in the dark, though his fingers eventually slow and stop moving. He smiles into Eggsy’s hair as his soft snores fill the bedroom and thinks he’s glad that they can have this before they face down Poppy Adams, even if it’s just for a little while.


	11. Chapter 11

“What do you mean she’s _gone_?”

Poppy knows what Charlie means, but she asks the question anyway because, well, she’s stunned. She has never worried about Roxy’s loyalties like she has with others and thinks of the young woman as reliable and dependable. Aside from Charlie, she’s one of Poppy’s favorite members since bringing her into the Golden Circle. For her to up and disappear is _very_ unlike Roxy.

“She never checked in,” Charlie tells her, looking put out as he fixes himself a drink. He glances over his shoulder, his blue eyes piercing with malice. “And her mobile’s been shut off.”

Poppy frowns. “Have you tried using the tracking feature?”

“Darling, you very well know that we can’t track her if the thing’s not even on,” he says heatedly. Charlie turns around with a glass in hand and sips. “I told you we should have installed such a feature in the circles.”

“How would we have done that? The gold is _melted_ ,” Poppy fires back. “It would do the same to the chips! We may as well not have circles at all and microchip them.”

Charlie contemplates this and shrugs. “Valentine _did_ have the right idea.”

“Valentine was a fool!” Poppy slams her fist down on the desk, furious at Charlie’s blasé stance in regards to Richmond. “He was arrogant and sloppy; look where it’s gotten us! We almost lost _everything_ because of him.”

More than anything, Poppy _hates_ being surprised and the mild-mannered Michelle Unwin, also known as Igraine, had done just that. Her fingers brushed against global dominion and cleansing until she found out that Michelle had betrayed her and was planning on serving Poppy and Valentine on a silver platter to Kingsman. After getting her hands stained with Valentine’s blood, she set her sights on thwarting that noisy bitch before she could ruin Poppy’s backup plan. Now she doesn’t know what Igraine knew—if anything at all—and her only link to Kingsman is currently missing and Igraine’s brat is still alive.

Thinking about the entire thing makes her livid, honestly.

“You have always been ahead of the game, darling,” Charlie says, trying to temper her anger. He flashes a sweet smile. “What happened to Valentine would never happen to you.”

Poppy raises a brow. “Do I need to remind you that Eggsy Unwin has escaped not once, but _twice_ now from our agents?” She wants to say _from you_ , but like herself, it’s never wise to test Charlie’s good humor. His bloodlust is just as violent, if not more than her own, and for whatever reason, he _loathes_ the boy. Poppy should ask, but she doesn’t; Charlie can keep his secrets if they don’t jeopardize the Golden Circle. He _is_ treading closely, though.

“He had help,” Charlie grouses.

She can tell he’s fibbing; Eggsy Unwin escaped on his own the first time. It had been dumb luck, but it’s all the same. “Help or no,” Poppy begins to say, “he’s still alive.”

“Maybe Roxy has something to do with that,” Charlie snarls.

“Doubtful,” Poppy retorts. “Roxy wouldn’t dare.”

“You said the same about Michelle,” Charlie says back as he brings the glass to his lips.

A gunshot goes off and the glass shatters in his hands. He jumps, thinking that the bullet from Poppy’s still-smoking gun hit him before realizing the truth. Wide-eyed, Charlie stares at her but says nothing. She’s the one with the weapon, after all. “You might be my favorite, but the tides _can_ change,” Poppy warns, coolly, as she sets the thing down on her desk.

Charlie disgruntledly grabs a napkin and begins blotting the remnants of liquor from his button down. “Duly noted,” he grumbles.

“Club soda will help with the stains,” Poppy tells him with a syrupy-sweet smile and bats her lashes when Charlie glances her way.

He sneers. “Thanks,” he says shortly before fetching the aforementioned item and pouring it onto another napkin. Charlie will be mad at Poppy for a few hours, maybe a day or two, before coming around; it’s how they go through life together.

While he cleans himself up, Poppy punches the passcode into her tablet and begins shuffling through messages in hopes to see one from Roxy. Perhaps she’s jumping the gun too quickly and the girl has gotten waylaid by urgent Kingsman business. On the other hand, Roxy has always been unusually good about keeping Poppy—or, on occasion, Charlie—updated on such developments. Well placed concern or overreactions—it’s not like there’s a book on how to run a drug cartel for Poppy to peruse through.

Besides, she has bigger problems to contend with—her tablet adamantly refuses to pull up her emails. Punching in her password for the third time in as many minutes, Poppy makes a disgruntled sound when nothing comes through. “Shit,” she curses.

“What is it?” Charlie asks. He’s still working club soda into his shirt.

“My email isn’t working,” Poppy tells him, pouting.

He rolls his eyes and comes over, their disagreement is forgotten as he flashes her one of his more charming smiles. Charlie doesn’t bother asking if she’s using the correct password or has the caps lock key on because, frankly, Poppy knows her way around a lot of things. Labs, computer systems, and weapons—none of it stands a chance against her.

Charlie types in her password and blinks. “Huh,” he says.

“Huh, what?”

He types again only to find the same problem she had. “The email server is…”

“Down? Slow? Broken?” Poppy asks, filling in the blanks. “Worthless?”

“No,” Charlie replies as he takes the tablet from her hands and moves his fingers over the screen. His frown soon turns into a pale, ashen expression of shock. “Oh no,” Charlie says.

Poppy stands immediately. “What? What is it!” She peers over his shoulder to find that each file on the servers—even on her personal devices—is being eaten up one by one. Her heart seizes in her chest as panic floods her veins with unfathomable iciness.

“We’ve been hacked,” Charlie tells her, even though he doesn’t have to.

 

* * *

 

Merlin feels the solid warmth of Eggsy’s arm slung over his middle as he breaks through the last vestiges of sleep.

Grunting, he palms his face and then blinks his eyes open, finding the bed’s canopy looming overhead. It must be late in the morning now, perhaps early afternoon judging by the light coming in through the curtains being unreasonably bright and tinted yellow. If it weren’t for the sensation of pins and needles coming from the arm trapped under Eggsy’s head, Merlin would certainly go back to sleep. He had been up late, which was unsurprising given what he and Ginger were doing.

She came to get him around half one in the morning, gently rapping on the door before waiting a moment and opening it, whispering his name. Having been in Kingsman for nearly half his life, Merlin was used to waking quickly and had done so, though not without thinking of Eggsy’s idea of an extended holiday. Where they could relax, have sex, and _sleep_ without interruption; God it sounded amazing!

Eggsy, on the other hand, was dead to the world when Merlin tried to coax him awake. He didn’t so much as budge and rolled over, lips smacking before a soft snore came tumbling from his mouth. Something about him lying there looking so relaxed made Merlin rethink his decision. He left Eggsy in bed and went to Ginger on his own, returning once the Golden Circle’s files and servers had been compromised with a giddy feeling coursing through him.

Which leads Merlin to the now—with Eggsy still sleeping next to him and the sounds of the chateau creaking around them—and realizes how lucky they’ve been thus far. Well, in spite of people trying to kill them.

He flexes his hand, feeling a prickling sensation travel through it as that arm protests at being moved. Eggsy makes an unconscious sound of protest and rolls off Merlin, coming to a stop on the other side of the bed. The lad’s shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin with a cluster of freckles—a place where Merlin’s traced a path with his mouth to taste Eggsy. Merlin has never been the sentimental sort, but Eggsy manages to bring it out of him and he hasn’t a clue as to why.

Merlin wonders what Michelle would think of this and if she’d laugh once she got over him and her son being lovers. Perhaps she would take it better than he suspects—in stride as she always did and with humor—and his fretting is for naught. He’ll never know because of Poppy Adams and the Golden Circle, but deep down Merlin hopes that she’d be happy for him—for _them_.

Too awake to go back to sleep, Merlin reluctantly gets out of bed and readies himself for what he hopes will be a quiet day. There isn’t much to be done now that the virus is eating its way through the Golden Circle’s servers; it’s a standstill, which isn’t the worst thing. Honestly, Merlin wants a moment to breathe and mentally regroup because he’s fucking _exhausted_.

They’re all exhausted, even Roxy. Merlin still wants to throttle for being so _fucking stupid_ , but he doesn’t because it would upset Eggsy, who defends her despite her role in his mother and step-father’s deaths. Eggsy, who is a better man than Merlin or Harry will ever be because he tries to see the good in people. It’s no small relief that he hasn’t become jaded like the rest of them and it makes Merlin adore his lover all the more.

He comes out of the bathroom with his face freshly shaven and his body dressed. Eggsy’s still sleeping, though he’s moved to the center of the bed where he sprawls out on the mattress. Chuckling, Merlin goes to him and slides on the edge. Eggsy groans, his features scrunching up and softening when Merlin runs his hand over the expanse of his back. The younger man blinks, his green eyes focusing on what’s in front of him before smiling up at Merlin, bleary and adorably rumpled.

“Morning,” Eggsy says.

There’s a pillow crease on his cheek, which Merlin traces with his fingers. “Morning,” he replies. “I wanted to let you know that I was headed downstairs.”

As he closes his eyes, Eggsy nods and hums his acknowledgment. “Tired,” he mumbles, dropping his head back down to his pillow.

“Go back to sleep,” Merlin tells him as he pets Eggsy’s hair. “Ginger and I deployed the virus last night and until the Golden Circle responds, there’s nothing more we can do.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eggsy yawns, not bothering to open his eyes. Instead, he preens under Merlin’s touch and lies there, unmoving. It’s impossible for him to sound annoyed when he looks so fatigued and Merlin doubts he could even if he tried.

Merlin snorts in amusement. “ _Someone_ wouldn’t even budge when I attempted it,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the scar on Eggsy’s eyebrow.

“Mhmm,” Eggsy agrees. His face grows slack as he falls asleep again. It’s a quick process, only taking minutes until his snores fill the space between him and Merlin.

Leaning down to kiss his lover’s forehead, Merlin whispers to Eggsy for him to rest well. He straightens out the tangled mess of bed linens and pulls them up to the lad’s shoulders before taking his leave. Eggsy will figure out where to find him if Kincade and Tilde don’t drag Harry, Champ, and himself out to the gun range. Ginger will most likely stay inside or on the back patio since shooting doesn’t interest her; besides, she’ll probably be on Roxy duty if the poor girl isn’t locked in her room.

As it turns out, Roxy and Ginger are in the dining room enjoying a fanciful brunch on silver platters. Merlin has no doubts it’s Anastasie’s doing; it’s been far too long since _Bonheur_ has been more than one or two guests at a time. Between Ginger’s arm and tablet is a pistol, already pointed at Roxy if she should try to make a run for it. He raises his brow but makes no comment as he takes a seat and begins piling food on his plate.

“How did you sleep?” Ginger asks when he’s tucking in.

He shrugs while he chews. “Not nearly enough. You?” Merlin directs the question at both women.

“Fine,” Roxy says, poking remnants of poached egg with her fork, while Ginger shrugs. She glances at him, licking her lips as she swallows; she’s nervous. “How’s…” Roxy stops speaking and shakes her head before going back to playing with her food.

Merlin hears the question in his head. _How’s Eggsy?_ The flare of anger he felt the night before has gone, leaving behind sympathy for the girl. She couldn’t have known what deep, dark secret Poppy Adams hid from her until it was too late. “He’s fine,” Merlin answers.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking relieved at not being screamed at. He _isn’t_ Harry, after all. “Good. I’m glad.”

Ginger trades a knowing smile with him. “What can you tell me about Ms. Adams? Her thought process, demeanor, anything you think might be useful,” Merlin says.

“She is incredibly temperamental; calm one moment, raging the next.” Roxy shifts in her seat. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some sort of mental disorder. I’ve seen her shoot a man while talking to Charlie like she’s telling him about her day.”

Merlin finds this interesting—where Richmond Valentine was exuberant in his methods to save the world, Poppy Adams is unhinged by the sounds of it. Then again, aren’t most terrorists? “Does she make a habit of that? Killing her members?”

“If she perceives any slight, she’ll act out, and Charlie lets her.”

“Charlie Hesketh, correct? The young man Eggsy was acquainted with.”

Roxy nods. “Yes. He was there the night Igraine was murdered…” Her voice trails off while her cheeks flush with anger. “I think he was one of the men who—” Clearing her throat, Roxy shakes her head. “He’s a bastard.”

“Who will be taken care of,” Merlin assures. He doesn’t say he promises because that’s meant for Eggsy, who has suffered more than any of them in the past two months.

A gun blast goes off in the direction of the range, interrupting the blissful silence of the chateau. He hopes it doesn’t wake Eggsy. “I see Kincade is letting off some steam,” Merlin comments as he lifts his teacup to his mouth.

“It was either that or making pipe bombs,” Ginger tells him. “My husband’s idea, of course. Some things never change.”

Merlin shrugs. “It may not be the worst idea,” he says. “For defensive purposes.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Ginger replies. “Chatzkel can get overzealous; now that he and Kincade are in the same room, who knows what trouble they’ll get up to.”

“Harry can watch them,” Merlin offers with a smirk. “Payback for all of the times he was a tit.” Ginger and Roxy’s soft giggles fill his ears and he resumes eating his brunch.

Rain splatters against the windows when Eggsy comes into the study. Merlin notices the mild look of surprise on his lover’s face when he sees Roxy sitting in an armchair. She’s reading like she’s one of their guests and not the enemy if Merlin can even call her that.

“Did you sleep well?” Ginger asks, breaking the tense silence. She offers Eggsy a friendly smile.

“Yeah,” he says, uncertain as he stands in the doorway. Shoving in his hands into his front pockets, Eggsy shrugs. The grey light from the dreary afternoon makes his eyes appear like the sea after a storm or its washed pieces of glass onto the shore. “I would have found you sooner, but Anastasie practically fed the entire pantry to me.”

Merlin chuckles. “I should have warned you about that. It’s been awhile since she’s entertained; I suspect she’s pulling out all of the stops.”

“What have you gotten yourself up to?” Eggsy comes inside, giving Roxy a wan smile as he passes her.

The pillow crease has long since vanished, but Merlin can’t help thinking that Eggsy looks softer when he’s gotten enough rest. He feels the warmth of his lover’s body besides his own and catches a whiff of his own cologne on Eggsy’s skin. “Tracking,” Merlin tells him almost cryptically. He pushes the tablet over to Eggsy for his perusal.

“I see,” he says after a moment. “Where are the others?”

“Gun range, though I suspect they’ll be heading back soon,” Merlin says after glancing over his shoulder. The rain’s beginning to come down a bit harder now. It’s the type of weather where he’d like to lead Eggsy to their bedroom and keep him there until morning.

The tablet beeps, startling Eggsy who’s quick to pass it back to Merlin. “I didn’t do anything,” he exclaims.

“Just a notification,” Ginger tells them as she takes the device from him and looks it over. She grins, clearly pleased by what she finds. “It seems that we’re ahead of schedule.” She doesn’t say anything more than that because, well, Roxy’s in the room.

Merlin returns her smile. “Perhaps we should adjourn to the parlor? There’s a set of chess that Roxy and Eggsy can play to keep themselves occupied.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Roxy shouts. She leaps to her feet with her hands curled into fists at her sides. For a girl who’s usually the very picture of composure, Roxy looks absolutely pale with frustration. “I don’t have a secret way of getting a hold of the Golden Circle and even if I did, I wouldn’t! I was _trying_ to get out! I _wanted_ to get out! I don’t want to help them, period. Not after what they’ve done.”

Eggsy speaks first. “She’s right,” he says, much to Merlin’s surprise. The lad shrugs before continuing, “If Roxy was going to give us up, she would have done it already or, at the very least, warned them. We might as well trust her until there’s a reason not to.”

His reasoning is so very much like his mother’s that Merlin wonders if she’s in the room. “Well then,” he says, turning to Ginger, “I’m fine with it if you are.” She nods in agreement. “What information do you have?”

“The virus has eaten its way through the Golden Circle’s servers, as well as any internal back-ups. If they have any external, it probably contains very little, if anything, useful,” Ginger explains.

“They’re fucked, basically,” Eggsy says.

Merlin scratches his chin. “And rightfully so.” He looks at Roxy and asks, “Do they keep anything on external drives?”

“No,” she answers, her lips curling in amusement. “Poppy had Richmond Valentine install this state-of-the-art server, which he said was impenetrable, and you’ve managed to wipe it out. I’d say she’s shooting things right about now or wanting to if Charlie hasn’t already stopped her.” Roxy notices how the name makes Eggsy flinch and her grin disappears. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Not your fault,” Eggsy tells her.

“Even still,” Roxy says, softly.

Eggsy clears his throat and asks, “So what now?”

“I suspect that Ms. Adams and her inner circle will retreat once it’s known that the information from the servers has been released,” Merlin answers. “Which it was, about a half-hour ago. Do you have any ideas of where she might be headed?”

Roxy doesn’t reply immediately and begins pacing the room. “Are the safe houses compromised?” After receiving a nod, she goes quiet again. “There’s no telling then. She’ll be desperate.”

“So luring her here wouldn’t be out of the question?”

“If it means bringing down those who thwart her plans, no. She’ll come, but mind, she’ll have firepower.”

Merlin and Ginger exchange a glance. “So will we,” he says. “Come, let’s find the others and make a plan before we lead Hell to _Bonheur_.”

 

* * *

 

As much as it pains him to say it, the plan almost disappoints Eggsy.

Not the plan itself, which honestly, is quite brilliant but the simplicity of it; these people are supposed to be _spies_ after all. He wants to know where the flashy gadgets are, the last minute airstrike, the ridiculous monologue that someone says before they get a bullet between the eyes. True that Kincade has more explosives and weapons than most militaries hidden in the bowels of the chateau (and perhaps around it), but _really_ , Eggsy expected this to be a bit like _Skyfall_ or some other James Bond outing.

The Daniel Craig ones, _obviously_.

“You look upset,” Roxy observes while Ginger and Merlin work on preparing to contact Poppy Adams.

Harry hovers nearby because, of course, he does. Kincade, Tilde, and Champagne are traipsing the grounds to plant some defensive landmines as if it’s the most normal thing to do during the evening. He suspects that more of their contacts will descend upon the chateau, which is fine. The more, the merrier, as the saying goes.

Two months ago, Eggsy would think he had gone mad, but now…it’s not as crazy as it sounds.

He hears his name and turns to Roxy, blinking. “What?”

“I said you look upset,” she repeats. She tilts her head, curiously. “Is it sinking in?” Roxy scrunches her nose, which is rather charming. “Never mind, forget I said that. Of course, it’s sunk in!”

“It’s alright,” Eggsy insists. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around _this_.” He gestures to Merlin and Ginger, unable to hide his smile when Merlin meets his stare. “All of this. I never thought the end would be in sight.”

Roxy nods, solemnly. “I never told you,” she begins. Tears brighten her eyes as she swallows and continues. “I never told you how sorry I am for the part I played in your mother and step-father’s deaths. What I did…” She shoots him a glare when Eggsy opens his mouth to counter her. “I am sorrier than words could say.”

One of the longest five minutes of Eggsy’s existence passes in relative silence. He realizes that Roxy is no different from him—she’s just a girl trying to stumble through life and makes mistakes as one does. Hers may have thrown him into the mouth of chaos, but she truly never meant harm to befall Eggsy or his parents.

“Thanks,” he says before going quiet. He thinks of what will happen to Roxy once this is over and they’ve made it out alive. She’ll be handed over to Kingsman to endure their punishment, whatever that will be. He rubs the ropy scar hidden underneath his sleeve; it’s still a vivid shade of pink and a constant reminder of what’s happened to him until Merlin’s lips touch it. Then it becomes something else entirely. “I’ll speak on your behalf,” Eggsy tells her. “It’s what my mum would have wanted.”

Roxy doesn’t look at him, though she does wipe her cheeks. “That is very kind,” she replies, shakily. “Thank you, Eggsy.”

He smiles, trying to conceal his discomfort, his sadness, all of it. Eggsy finally understands why his mum kept his world a secret from him—it’s a dangerous one. It’s filled with the worst of people and the best; there’s constant heartbreak, insanity, and victory.

“You’re welcome,” he says, almost too softly for Roxy to hear.

“Eggsy. Roxanne,” Merlin calls, motioning them over.

Eggsy notices an iPhone set on the desk; it looks fairly normal in appearance, though Eggsy suspects it’s anything but. Whatever Merlin and Ginger have done to it, there’s no doubt it’s going to be wicked. “Explosive?” he teases.

It earns a laugh from Ginger. She shakes her head as she reaches for the device and pushes it towards Eggsy. “Neither Merlin or I have perfected an explosive small enough… _yet_ ,” Ginger says with a smile.

Eggsy picks it up and chuckles. “Sick! Think of all those pickpockets who try to nick phones on the Tubes! One press of the button and you blow them up.” He notices Merlin, Harry, and Roxy staring at him in disapproval while Ginger does a shit job at concealing her smirk. “Sorry,” he says, feigning seriousness. “So we use this to phone them, yeah? What do you plan on saying?”

“We would get the point as quickly as possible,” Harry tells him. It occurs to Eggsy that’s he done this before judging by how easily the words come out. “We have what Ms. Adams wants and with such knowledge, we would like to offer her a trade. Your life for the contents of the USB. We’ll have approximately five hours before her arrival.”

“And what if she doesn’t bite?”

Harry tilts his head in consideration. “Then we tell her that we’ll have no choice but threaten bodily harm. I always find starting with the kneecaps to be a good way to go,” he says.

“That’s fucking rank, bruv,” Eggsy states, wrinkling his face.

“True, but I doubt she’ll say no,” Harry replies. “As Ms. Morton has mentioned, she’ll be getting desperate.”

Eggsy swallows as nerves flutter in his stomach. “Yeah,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving the iPhone. The idea of having to hear—let alone _negotiate_ —with his mum’s murderer makes Eggsy feel sick.

“Eggsy,” Harry says. He looks up and sees the kind expression on Harry’s face. “If you are too uncomfortable, Merlin could take you elsewhere. I heard from Kincade that there’s a lovely collection of portraits of his family; their history is rather remarkable.”

Fucking Harry; leave it to him to reveal that he isn’t that much of a wanker after all.

Eggsy nods, feeling relief rush through him. He has an out if this phone call should prove to be too much for him to handle. “I’ll think about it,” Eggsy tells him, offering Harry a smile.

He returns it. “Of course.” His attention goes to Merlin and Ginger. “I assume you have made the necessary calls to our other contacts?”

“Aye,” Merlin says. “Reinforcements will be here.”

“Very well. Now about Ms. Morton; we’ll need to keep her away from Ms. Adams,” Harry begins to say.

Eggsy cuts in. “She can stay with me.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Merlin replies, his gaze bouncing between Eggsy and Roxy.

He shrugs. “You need to keep me, so why not have Roxy with me—”

“Roxy may still be in league with—”

Eggsy growls, having heard enough. “She made a mistake, alright?” he shouts. “One _fucking_ mistake! And yeah, it was a big one, but Roxy…” Eggsy glances at her, noticing how frightened she looks underneath that mask of composure. “She’s had so many chances to finish the job and she hasn’t. She’s _helped_ us. She was helping my mum. Roxy has the training and we need all of the help we can get, yeah? Keep her close.”

“What if she tries to hurt you, Eggsy?” Ginger asks. “What then?”

Eggsy opens his mouth to reply, but it’s Roxy’s voice that comes out. “Then he can finish me off,” she replies with a shrug. Roxy looks at him before squaring her shoulders. “But you have my word—however good it is to you—that I would rather die before harming Eggsy.”

Merlin palms his face and turns away, cursing under his breath while Harry goes to the drinks trolley to pour himself a glass of whiskey. Ginger lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

“Eggsy,” Ginger says, her voice filled with sympathy. “Betrayals aren’t taken lightly in this world and Roxy will have to answer to Kingsman once this is over.”

He flinches and wonders what Kingsman will do to her. “I know,” Eggsy says. “And I will speak on her behalf. I promised her.”

No one tries to dissuade or even yell at him. Perhaps they understand it’s what his mum would have wanted; for Kingsman to treat Roxy with kindness despite her error in judgment.

“Alright,” Merlin finally says, sounding annoyed. He pushes the mobile in Harry’s direction. “Let’s get this over with.”

Something seizes him—courage, maybe—and Eggsy grabs the device. The cool surface warms on his palm and reminds him of the mobile he used to have. He looks up from the sleek black plastic and stares Merlin right in the eyes. “I’ll do it,” he says, filled with determination.

To his surprise, Merlin smiles at him. The pride and admiration on his face fills Eggsy with the last bits of fire he needs to do this. “Okay, lad,” he replies, his brogue thick and calming to Eggsy’s ears. “Just hit the call button when you’re ready.”

 

* * *

 

When her phone rings, to say Poppy’s shocked is an understatement.

It’s one of the burners she keeps for emergencies, which the current clusterfuck she finds herself in most certainly is. Very few people have the number—and most of them are dead, seeing how she and Charlie are the ones who put them in that state. It was either allowing for a mutiny or handling it, even if it cost her that brand new Dolce and Gabbana coat with the rose print.

Brain matter and blood stains are a real bitch to get out, but Poppy digresses.

And it’s not her fault that _someone_ managed to infiltrate her servers! If Valentine weren’t already dead, she’d certainly kill him now because, God, she’s so screwed! Everything she’s put into the Golden Circle—bank accounts, members, jobs, connections—has been put in jeopardy, all because of a virus. Just thinking about watching the _fucking thing_ eating its way through the system without being able to do anything makes her gnash her teeth and grind them. All of that dental work could very well be ruined by her stress.

Then her phone rings.

“Charlie,” she yells to the front of the jet where Charlie sits with the pilot. “Are you butt dialing me?”

The cockpit door flies open, banging against the wall and startling her. Charlie peers out with a scowl on his normally handsome face. “Now why the fuck would I do that?” he demands. He’s been in a mood since they blew bullet holes into their inner circle.

“Because _someone_ is calling me,” Poppy says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Perhaps if you picked it up,” Charlie suggests through clenched teeth.

She rolls her eyes at him and reaches into her purse for her phone. Poppy tilts her head when she notices the words unknown caller on the screen, but answers it up anyways in hopes it’s Roxy. “This is Poppy,” she says brightly like her mother taught her.

“This is Eggsy Unwin,” the caller replies, “and you killed my mum.”

“E-Eggsy,” Poppy stammers, momentarily stunned. Whatever she had known about this boy from Charlie, clearly both of them underestimated him. She hears Charlie unbuckling his seatbelt with a curse. “It’s such a lovely surprise to hear from you. Tell me, how have you been?”

His snort of disgust comes from the speaker. “How have I been?” Eggsy repeats, chuckling. Underneath his morbid amusement, Poppy hears the contempt and rage quaking from him in waves. “I’ve been fine; just running for my life and all that. Making sure you and your band of arseholes don’t kill me. How about you? Do anything fun recently?”

That tone made her fingers tighten around the phone as Charlie charged up to her because she knew he had something to do with the virus that attacked her servers. Poppy had no idea how he pulled it off, but Eggsy Unwin had. “Funny you should ask,” she says with faux-sweetness. “I recently lost quite a lot. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“I might,” Eggsy says as Charlie hisses, “Is it him? Is it Unwin?”

She tries to imagine how Eggsy would react to hearing Charlie’s voice. Would this posture fade and dissolve into a panic? Poppy knows Charlie doubts his bravery, while she isn’t so sure. Or this young man continues surprising her and hold his ground. It’s a shame his mother had to die since it seems he’s very much like her.

“Hello, Charlie,” Eggsy greets, icily.

“You fucking prick!” Charlie uncharacteristically shouts back, making a grab for the phone. “It was _you_! I _know_ you did this!” He lets out a grunt when Poppy moves it from his reach. “Unwin!”

Poppy glares him into silence. “My apologies for Mr. Hesketh,” she says.

“Rape and murder are the _least_ of his crimes,” Eggsy tells them, venom oozing into his voice. Clearing his throat, his attitude changes as he says, “It so happens I know how to replace what you’ve lost, seeing how I’m staring at it.”

She makes an angry sound. “Impossible,” she lies.

“I thought hiding money in the Caymans was just a movie thing,” Eggsy prattles on. “But _three_ accounts, Poppy? Is that really necessary? And don’t even get me started on the heroin fields in Cambodia!”

True fear rushes through her veins, turning them into ice. “How?” Poppy asks.

“That doesn’t matter, does it? I have what you want and vice versa,” Eggsy states plainly. It reminds her of his mother and how she addressed everything head-on, including betraying the Golden Circle.

Poppy wants to torture this boy until he begs for death. “What could I have that _you’d_ want, Mr. Unwin?”

“You want to protect your Golden Circle,” he hisses, “and in exchange, you give me my life back.”

“What life? Your parents are dead; your home is just ashes…I’ve taken everything from you!” Poppy tells him; she’s on the verge of laughing.

Eggsy goes silent for a few moments; moments that make Poppy worry. He has nothing to lose, while she does. If she or Charlie were to push him over the edge, it may result in further destruction. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I?” he asks. “Meanwhile, you and your sick fuck of a pet are grasping at straws because all I have to do is utilize the passcodes on the USB my mum left for me and your plans will be _done_. You’ll have nothing and a lot of people to answer to. I bet the Golden Circle will be narked off to know that their leader fucked up. I mean, there’s personal addresses of cartels on this thing!”

Poppy swallows audibly. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“No,” Eggsy snaps, his voice exploding and startling both Poppy and Charlie. “ _You_ don’t know _who_ you’re dealing with!”

She glances at Charlie, who seems surprised and shaken by the Unwin boy’s outburst. “There’s no need to shout,” Poppy says, sweetly. “I think we can discuss this calmly, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing to discuss—we have things the other wants and I’m willing to make a trade. The question is, are you?”

Poppy wants to hang up on the little shit or hunt him to the end of the earth, then kill him. And those Kingsman, as well. “Yes,” she answers.

“Good,” Eggsy says. “I am going to send you coordinates to my location, but I’ve got to warn you if you try anything the deal’s off.”

“I should tell you, Mr. Unwin, I don’t like to be threatened,” Poppy warns, keeping her sweet tone.

Eggsy chuckles. “It ain’t a threat,” he says before the line goes dead.


	12. Chapter 12

“I thought I’d find you in here,” Merlin says to him.

Eggsy had been looking at the moonlight soaked grounds of _Bonheur_ and hadn’t even noticed Merlin until he spoke. He was lost in his own head, filtering through the events of the last few hours and compartmentalizing them for later; soon Poppy would be here and Eggsy needed to hold it together until…well, he needed to hold it together. He looks up from his perch by the window and gives Merlin a wan smile, watching as he closes the door behind him. Eggsy doesn’t need to say it, but he’s grateful for the privacy. “I needed a moment to process.”

Poppy’s sweet voice makes his eardrums sting and frankly, he’s surprised about what he found on the other end of the phone call. Eggsy expected someone more sinister sounding and it's perhaps why Poppy seems more dangerous for as unassuming as she is.

Merlin walks across the room and takes a seat next to Eggsy’s feet. “What you did was very brave,” he says. “A lot of people couldn’t have done it…facing her down the way you did.”

“I guess I’m like my mum in that way,” Eggsy says, nudging Merlin’s thigh.

Merlin nods as a smile breaks out across his face. “You are,” he agrees.

Eggsy wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist and buries himself in his warmth with a heavy, burden-filled sigh. “Or barking mad,” he jokes as Merlin kisses the top of his head.

“Aren’t we all, though?” his lover asks, teasingly.

“It definitely makes things interesting,” Eggsy comments. “What a motley crew we make, yeah? And to think we’re taking on a madwoman—just the eight of us.”

Merlin holds him tighter and hums in agreement. “Aye, and we’re insane for doing it!”

“Someone has to, though,” Eggsy says, quietly. He pulls away to look at Merlin. “It might as well be us.”

His lover touches his face; first an eyebrow and then other. Merlin comes to his lips and traces their shape with his fingers before leaning in. “Eggsy,” he whispers.

They come together, softly at first, as if they’re the most delicate things in existence. Eggsy releases the sigh of appreciation he’s held in since Merlin began tracing his skin and presses closer to him. He traps Merlin’s bottom lip between his own and runs his tongue, then teeth over them. His lover’s moan rumbles, moving into his body and spreading through him like it’s a match and Eggsy’s the wick. He just wants Merlin to open up for him and let Eggsy inside of his mouth. There’s just something terribly intoxicating about Merlin that makes Eggsy want _more_ , that he’ll _never get enough of him_.

Eggsy flicks his tongue over the curve between Merlin’s lips, working his way inside until Merlin opens his mouth. The first taste makes Eggsy moan despite having kissed Merlin more times than he can count; it never gets old.

All of the tentative movements vanish as Merlin buries his fingers into Eggsy’s hair and trap the strands between his curled knuckles, tugging the lad closer. Their tongues brush against each other, licking their mouths and dancing back out to kiss until they have to part for air.  

What Eggsy finds nearly short circuits his brain—Merlin standing there with slick, red lips and flushed cheeks as he stares Eggsy down with his sparkling hazel eyes. The lamps hug every inch of his exposed skin in a golden glow. Merlin tugs at the hem of his own shirt, bringing it up and over his torso before shrugging it off entirely. He drops it at his feet and begins toeing off his shoes and socks. Merlin’s hands drift to his belt buckle; it falls victim to them and finds its way to the floor, followed by his trousers.

Clad in only his y-fronts, Merlin steps into Eggsy’s sphere and reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it off of him. He caresses Eggsy’s skin, tracing over his clavicles and the dip at his throat, following his fingers with his mouth. Teeth and tongue bring both sharp and softness to his senses, causing goosebumps to rise as Merlin moves on.

“Merlin,” he breathes, his eyelashes fluttering against the tops of his cheekbones. Eggsy thinks he may die if his lover doesn’t stop with his explorations and continue undressing him. He understands why Merlin’s taking this slow; this could be the last time. Underneath his arousal, Eggsy feels his gut instinct coiling and decides it won’t be—not if Eggsy has any say over it.

He groans as Merlin begins sucking on the spot under his jaw, nipping and wetting the skin until Eggsy grabs onto his biceps and tugs him forward. He catches Merlin’s mouth with his own and kisses him with everything he has while they work on his belt and trousers, chuckling muffledly when it gets stuck in one of the loops. Merlin bats his hands away to pull it out and then focuses on Eggsy’s zipper before shoving every last stitch of clothing down to his ankles.

Then their desire ignites.

They stumble towards the rug at the end of the bed and fall onto it. Eggsy curses as Merlin’s hand engulfs his hard cock and begins stroking while lighting fires all over his body. He jerks into the tight circle of his lover’s fist over and over until he feels the familiar tug of his balls. “We need lube,” he says between kisses and trying to shove Merlin’s y-fronts down his long legs. He hisses when Merlin swirls his thumb over his head, wetting it with his own precum. “ _Please_!” he begs, his voice crackling with need.

“Who am I to deny you?” Merlin murmurs against his mouth. With a quick peck, he stands to fetch the lube they’ve been keeping in the top drawer of the bedside table and marks his return by giving Eggsy another bruising kiss.

Merlin doesn’t have to tell him to spread his legs; Eggsy does so without a word and relishes the burn of Merlin’s slick fingers stretching his arsehole. He moans against his lover’s mouth when Merlin caresses his prostate and sends frissons of pleasure through his body. His muffled curses earn laughter from Merlin as he kisses a trail down Eggsy’s torso to one of his nipples and flicks it with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Eggsy breathes, unable to keep his eyes off of Merlin as he sucks a hardening nub into his mouth. He feels the sharpest of his lover’s teeth against it and cries out. “Please,” he moans. “Merlin, _please_!”

Merlin curls his fingers a final time, watching as Eggsy’s hips jerk. “You beg so prettily,” he says, heatedly. “Did you know that?”

“Never had reason to,” Eggsy tells him. He’s never had anyone make him feel the way Merlin does. Even as Merlin withdraws his fingers and Eggsy moans at the loss, he thinks there’s nothing better than having his lover fill him, take him, and drive him to pleasure.

His lover pours a generous amount of lube into his palm and slicks himself up. “I’m going to take you somewhere that we can be alone,” Merlin says. He lines his cock up with Eggsy’s hole, groaning as it catches on the puff, wet rim. “And take you apart.”

“You’ll put me back together right?” Eggsy asks. He shudders at the pressure of Merlin entering him and pulls his lover closer. “Fuck, Merlin…”

Merlin brushes Eggsy’s damp hair off his forehead. “Always,” he whispers. “Always, Eggsy.”

They begin moving against each other, slowly at first until Merlin’s fully sheathed inside of him and Eggsy’s hands scramble for purchase on Merlin’s broad shoulders. He makes a sound unlike anything he’s ever made—something between a moan and a whine—as Merlin thrusts just a bit faster, a bit harder. Merlin spreads his legs wider apart, pushing them towards his chest and leans in. Eggsy pulls him the rest of the distance, licking into his mouth as soon as Merlin’s close enough.

He draws his teeth over his lover’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth to tease it with his tongue. The taste of Merlin floods him, spreading as Eggsy deepens the kiss. He doesn’t think he could ever get enough of this man no matter how many times they do this. Eggsy always learns something new about his lover, from the sounds Merlin makes to how he feels under his hands as he fucks him. Merlin’s prick finds his prostate and suddenly, Eggsy can’t breathe. He throws his head back and wails, not caring if anyone hears him, because, _fuck!_ Merlin’s bloody fantastic in bed.

Merlin doesn’t quiet his cries and growls into Eggsy’s mouth as he bites and licks and sucks with equal vigor. When Eggsy digs his fingernails into the skin on Merlin’s shoulders, it seems to ignite more of his desire as he fucks him harder. Eggsy raises his hips to meet his lover’s thrusts, whining against Merlin’s swollen lips until he drops his head back onto the floor with a curse.

Teeth and tongue nip at the skin just below his collarbone, applying suction to create a mouth-shaped bruise near his heart. “Merlin!” Eggsy whimpers as he pulls Merlin to him and feels his breath against his neck. “I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns, screwing his eyes shut.

“I’m right there with you,” Merlin says. He bears most of his weight on his forearms, pumping into Eggsy faster and harder. Clearly, he’s just as gone as Eggsy. “Let me hear you.”

“Who am I to deny you?” Eggsy murmurs, echoing Merlin’s earlier statement before he loses the power of speech and begins to quake under his lover’s body. He barely lasts through another toe-curling thrust when he begins cumming between them and coats both of their skin with his release.

It’s what brings Merlin to the precipice of orgasm, only for Eggsy to hear.

 

* * *

 

“Shouldn’t we dress soon?” Eggsy asks.

Merlin hums in reply, neither yes or no as he rubs his thumb back and forth over a knob on Eggsy’s spine. He’s quite happy there on the rug with Eggsy in his arms and basking in the silence of the room. Even if his back aches in the morning, it’s worth this bit of peace they’re able to snatch.

Eggsy’s fingers stroke the trail of hair near Merlin’s navel and chuckles at his incoherent answer. He moves closer to him, as if their bodies weren’t close enough, and lets out a sigh. His warm exhale travels over Merlin’s skin like a caress.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Merlin teases. He tilts his head and kisses Eggsy’s hair, smelling remnants of the shampoo he used and dried sweat.

The lad shifts, then practically rolls on top of him. Resting his chin on his sternum, Eggsy glances at him with his green eyes, turned molten by the lamps. “Was thinking we should have lit the fireplace had I known we wouldn’t have made it to the bed,” he says.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that,” Merlin assures as he cards his fingers through Eggsy’s hair. Honestly, he’s not certain of his answer despite wanting it to be true; he’s wanted nothing more than that…besides Eggsy, of course. “My parents have a place right on the coast of Scotland, in Crovie. It’s this stone cottage with a blue door that overlooks the North Sea.”

Eggsy raises a brow. “Must be cold as shit in the winter.”

“Fucking freezing!” Merlin laughs. “Or used to be. My father had the inside renovated as an anniversary gift to my mother, so it’s much better insulated, but there’s this fireplace in the master bedroom.” He touches Eggsy’s cheek and grins as his eyelashes flutter. “I would make sure it’s lit every night we stayed there before I have my wicked way with you.”

The lad rolls his eyes with a snort. “Fireplace or no, I’m pretty sure you’d do that anyway.” Eggsy tangles their legs together and runs a toe along Merlin’s calf. “Can’t say I mind.”

“Aye,” Merlin replies, fondly. “You don’t seem to. I’m fairly certain the entire chateau heard us!”

“I’m surprised Harry didn’t break the door down,” Eggsy says, snickering.

His lips twitch, silently thinking the same thing. Despite Harry’s grievances about their relationship, he does—or must—know that he and Eggsy needed this moment to themselves; he’s an idiot, but not heartless. “He wouldn’t dare,” Merlin tells him.

“Are you sure about that?”

“The thought of seeing a colleague, let alone a colleague’s child, in the nude would scandalize him,” Merlin replies, trying not to laugh. “And Harry’s seen my arse more times than he’s wanted to; the perils of being childhood friends.”

Eggsy chuckles as he presses his lips to Merlin’s chest. “I reckon the silver spoon shoved up his arse is probably petrified by now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Before Merlin can answer, there’s a discreet knock. Eggsy groans, mumbling about how Harry has shit timing as the door creaks open.

“Well,” Tilde says, sounding amused. “Isn’t this a lovely sight?”

Merlin tilts his head while Eggsy’s pops up. Neither of them is covered by anything, not even stray clothing, which Tilde doesn’t seem to mind. She smiles coyly as Merlin reaches for the nearest thing to lay over Eggsy’s arse.

“Oh, why did you have to do that?” Tilde asks, disappointed. “It’s quite the masterpiece if I do say so myself.”

“For my eyes only,” Merlin reminds her.

Tilde sighs. “Shame. I’ve come to fetch you both, so you might as well get dressed.”

“So soon?” Eggsy asks.

“It seems Poppy’s jet was closer than we expected,” Tilde tells them. “And she’s brought firepower. Roxy was right about her; she goes for the jugular when angered.”

Merlin snatches the t-shirt laying on Eggsy’s arse and stands up, covering himself with it. “Has anyone contacted our reinforcements?” he asks as he and Eggsy begin dressing while simultaneously trying not to flash Tilde more than they already have.

“Harry did,” she says. “They’re about an hour out and hoping to get here sooner rather than later.”

“And the serving staff?”

“Evacuated,” Tilde assures. She bends down to pick up Merlin’s jumper and tosses it to him. “It’s just the eight of us, plus the explosives Kincade and Champagne set up while you two were… _busy_.” Tilde offers him a not-so-innocent smile when Merlin rolls his eyes at her.

Eggsy grunts as he sits down on the bed to slip on his socks and trainers. “Just us eight?” He finishes tying his laces and grins. “I like the odds of that!” he says, winking. It’s false cheer; Merlin knows enough Eggsy to realize that. Besides, it shows in his eyes.

“Just like your mother,” Merlin laments. He pulls his jumper over his head.

Tilde chuckles. “Not the worst thing to be in this world,” she says.

“Definitely not,” Eggsy agrees.

Merlin scoffs at both of them, thinking they will be the death of him if it isn’t Poppy Adams and the Golden Circle; what’s left of it, anyway. “We should get downstairs,” he says as he walks over to the wardrobe to get his and Eggsy’s coats. Merlin hands Eggsy’s to him. “You remember the plan?”

“Yeah,” the younger man replies as he slips it on. “Roxy and I will head to the greenhouse to wait it out. Once the reinforcements arrive, you’ll come get us.”

“Aye,” Merlin says. He goes to the dresser and pulls open the top drawer where he’s stashed a gun. “You’ll need this and these.” He takes out four bullet cartridges. “They’ve already been sorted out. All you need to do is load them.”

Eggsy nods as he reaches for them. “Thanks,” he says, quietly. A haunted look appears on his face as he loads a cartridge into the gun and puts it in his back pocket while the three others go inside of his coat.

Merlin thinks the night Michelle died might be replaying in Eggsy’s mind and how close he is to finishing this once and for all. It will be no small relief to have the Golden Circle pay for what they’ve done and be able to return home without a price on either of their heads. He can help Eggsy pick up the pieces and continue their relationship like any other couple.

“We should be going,” Tilde says, kindly. She flashes both men a sympathetic smile. “The others are waiting.”

Merlin sighs as he slips on his coat. “Could you give us a moment?”

Tilde nods. “Of course. I’ll let the others know you’re coming.” With that, she leaves.

“Come here,” Merlin says to Eggsy. He holds his arms open for the other man and smiles as Eggsy walks into his embrace. His lover’s breath is warm on his neck as Eggsy releases a heavy sigh. “It will be alright.”

Eggsy’s arms tighten around his middle. “How can you be so sure?”

“I hope it will be.” Merlin takes Eggsy’s face in his hands and runs his thumbs over his lover’s cheeks. “If I have any say in the matter, it _will_ be. I demand it.”

He grasps Merlin’s wrists. “If something happens, don’t do anything heroic,” Eggsy tells him. “Just run, okay?” His fingernails dig into Merlin’s skin as he pulls him closer. “Please, Merlin,” he says, desperate. “I don’t want to lose you, too!”

“I’ll run,” Merlin promises as Eggsy’s hot tears wet his cheeks and Merlin’s thumbs. He wipes them away.

“Swear it,” Eggsy demands through trembling lips.

Merlin nods. “I swear it.” He leans in, kissing Eggsy’s forehead, then each eyelid and cheek before sealing their mouths together. He tastes Eggsy’s salty tears on his tongue and holds him tighter. “We should go,” Merlin says when they finally part, flushed and breathing hard. “The others will be waiting.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy agrees, sniffling. “Okay. Shall we?”

He takes Eggsy’s hand.

 

* * *

 

As he and Merlin descend the main staircase, a series of explosions rock the foundations of the chateau.

“What the fuck was that?” Merlin demands as Eggsy and him join the others. He already has his gun out of the holster.

“Landmines,” Kincade says, sounding more delighted than anyone ought to. “Champ and I set them ‘round the perimeter in case if those arseholes decided to be sneaky!”

Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I would ask if you’re insane, but…” His voice trails off as Merlin glares at the other man. “Where else did you plant explosives? I’d rather not step on them.”

“You won’t step on them if you stay within bounds,” Kincade argues. Eggsy watches as he takes a sip from his flask and decides that Kincade is absolutely barking mad. How this man got his hands on bombs, he’ll never know or want to know.

“What about our reinforcements?” Merlin snaps. “We need to make sure they can get here!”

Champagne cuts in. “I’ve notified them.” Another blast brightens the dimly lit entryway. In the distances, Eggsy sees a fireball across the front lawns. “And we need to get into position. Eggsy, Roxy,” he says, nodding.

 _Go,_ Eggsy thinks as Roxy tugs on his elbow. “Be careful,” he says to everyone as his stomach ties itself into painful knots. How his mum stayed calm during her missions, well, fuck. Eggsy wishes he could ask her. A hollow laugh comes out of his mouth. “We can’t celebrate if you’re all dead, yeah?”

Merlin stares at him, then Roxy. “You keep him safe, you hear?” he tells her as he hands his gun to her. No one tries to argue with him because, honestly, they need everyone packing.

“I will,” Roxy promises. She checks the cartridge and nods with satisfaction before saying to Eggsy, “We’ve got to go; they’ll be here any minute.”

Eggsy looks at Merlin. “Remember what I said.”

“I know,” his lover replies. “You do the same.”

He doesn’t have time to smile at Merlin or even say what he _really_ wants to say. It’s probably better this way—to not take away either of their focus. Eggsy can tell Merlin later; when the dust has settled and they’re away from here, preferably somewhere warm, he reckons as the night’s cold air blasts Eggsy in the face when he and Roxy step outside. A burning sensation dances over his cheeks, his lips, and the top of his nose. By the time he and Roxy spot the green house’s roof reflecting in the moonlight, Eggsy already knows his skin has turned pink.

“Fucking freezing,” he complains as they trudge over the grounds. Eggsy glances at Roxy and smirks. “You’d think they would pick a better night.”

She laughs softly. “Maybe it will be warmer inside,” Roxy says.

“One would hope,” Eggsy replies.

They stop talking; only the sound of gravel crunching under their shoes can be heard. Every so often, Eggsy glances over his shoulder when another explosion sends a fireball into the night sky. The reverberation leaves his ears buzzing. He wonders who the poor bastard was. It’s shit luck for someone to meet their end in one of the traps Kincade and Champagne laid for them.

Roxy’s hand shoots out and grabs his sleeve. “Did you hear that?” she asks as they stop walking.

“Hear what?”

“That buzzing?”

Eggsy holds his breath and listens. The sound seems to be coming closer and if it wasn’t so damn cold out, he would think they were bees. “Yeah, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

“Neither can I,” Roxy says as she turns her head to get a better idea. She runs her teeth over her bottom lip and motions for them to keep moving. “Come on. Let’s get to the greenhouse.”

Eggsy nods. “Good idea.”

No sooner than the words leave his mouth, the buzzing surrounds them. They glance up at the night sky to find a swarm of metallic drones hovering overhead.

“Shit!” Roxy exclaims. She pulls out her gun and shoots at them, taking one down while the others begin to fire. “Eggsy, run!”

He hears the sound of bullets raining upon them as he and Roxy take off. They hit the ground, tear holes into the plants, ping off of the gravel; all of them too close for Eggsy’s comfort. Eggsy whips out his gun and whirls around when he can, firing at the drones while Roxy does the same. One of them explodes mid-air, taking another two with it in a fiery death.

It gives him and Roxy enough time to gain some distance between from them. Roxy fires at the blasted things again and curses, having missed. Instinctively, Eggsy turns to her as the swarm barrels into the air and veers down, charging right at them.

“Holy shit!” Eggsy shouts as he grabs Roxy and pushes her over a stone fence before diving after her. Her cry of surprise gets cut short as they tumble to the ground.

Firing on the fence, the drones’ bullets send chunks of stone all over the place. Eggsy and Roxy curl into each other to shield themselves from the onslaught; even then they end up with scratches. In his arms, Roxy squirms incessantly. “What are you doing?” Eggsy demands.

“This,” Roxy says as she pulls away from him to reveal a gold-plated lighter. She opens and quickly tosses the blasted thing towards the drones.

Eggsy stares at her, wondering if Roxy has gone mad. “What the—” He doesn’t finish because Roxy is grabbing him and practically tossing Eggsy back to the dirt.

An explosion comes seconds later, followed by smaller ones. Eggsy hears metal falling to the ground, hitting the gravel like hail. He pushes Roxy off of him and lifts his head over the fence, shocked at what he finds. Fiery pieces of metal litter the area just beyond them, filling the ground with dead drones. Several of them spark and whine, then die completely.

Eggsy blinks as he and Roxy lift their heads. “Shut up,” he rasps as he turns to her, his shock melting into absolute delight. “The lighter was a hand grenade? Fucking sick!”

“I’m glad you think so,” Roxy says with a bit of a smug grin as she stands. “We better get moving before more show up.”

“There’s _more_?”

Roxy shrugs. “Isn’t there always?”

 

* * *

 

There are times that Kincade drives Merlin up a bloody wall and makes him want to throttle the old geezer.

Then there are others in which he could kiss him, and Kincade owning a tank gun, which he suspects used to be on a tank, is one of them. Merlin hears Kincade’s whoop of glee as he takes aim at the drones heading towards them, taking out more than a few. It ignites the sky with fireballs, leaving the smell of smoke in their wake; the air is heavy with the stuff.

“Take that!” Kincade shouts and shakes his fist.

Merlin would normally shout at him, but he’s a bit busy with tracking Poppy Adams’ progressing to _Bonheur_ at the moment. Ginger’s in his ear, rattling off the growing casualties of vehicles advancing onto the property while he reloads his rifle and tries not to think of the drones that escaped Kincade’s wrath. Merlin can’t think of the direction they flew towards because it’ll distract him. He knows Eggsy is more than capable—he was a Marine, after all—but Merlin worries all the same.

He peers through the rifle scope and notices a fast moving vehicle coming down the driveway. With a curse, he cocks the hammer and lines up the crosshairs before pulling the trigger. Merlin waits as the seconds tick by until the headlights zig-zag and the sound of screeching tires comes from the distance. A loud crash follows; no one exits the smoldering wreckage.

An explosion comes from behind, lighting up the grounds with a fireball. Merlin turns, finding smaller flames dropping from the sky. _Drones,_ he thinks— _hopes_ —and wonders how Roxy managed to sneak one of the Kingsman lighter grenades without any of them realizing.

“Oi! Over there!” Kincade shouts.

Merlin looks back and notices two shadowy figures exiting the ruined vehicle. One of them takes off as soon as they pull the other out a broken window and disappears into the night. “Galahad!” he says into his earpiece.

“En route,” Harry replies.

He’s about to tell Harry that he’ll be behind him when Champagne’s voice breaks through and says, “More drones headed our way!”

“Ah, you fuckin’ bastards!” Kincade curses. He looks at Merlin. “Go after Harry. Between Champagne, Tilde, and myself, we’ve got it covered.”

Merlin hesitates. “What about the person on the ground?”

“Ginger can manage them,” the other man tells him. He taps his earpiece. “Ain’t that right, Ginger?”

“Already on it,” Ginger says. She sounds like she’s running. “I’ve alerted our reinforcements and they’re fifteen minutes out on the ground, five by air.”

Kincade cackles. “Atta lass!” He gestures for Merlin to leave. “Go, boy! I’ll be fine with Bessy,” he says, patting on the tank gun.

“You…” Merlin shakes his head. “I’m not even touching that,” he says as he takes off. He sprints towards the door leading back into the chateau and barrels down the stairs with the rifle banging against his back. The sound of the tank gun firing reverberates through the walls.

Tilde’s voice cuts through, “En route to Ginger. She needs assistance.”

“Hold your position,” Merlin tells her. He makes a sharp detour towards the front lawns. “I’m just about there.”  

“You hold your position,” Tilde snarls at him. She’s clearly running to Ginger. “Champ, do you see anyone else coming up the avenue?”

Merlin pushes the front doors open as two Kingsman jets fly overhead. Another two are behind them, firing upon more Golden Circle vehicles and effectively obliterate them. “Reinforcements are here,” Champagne says with relief. “En route to the front lawn.”

He expects to find Ginger engaging in combat, given the urgency of Tilde’s tone. Merlin rushes down the steps and across the damp grass towards them only to halt several feet away. Ginger has taken off her coat and torn the sleeve, which she uses a tourniquet for the person on the ground.

“She’s bleeding out!” Ginger shouts when she notices Merlin.

The scent of blood hits his nostrils as Merlin closes the distance between them and brings him back to that fateful night in the tailor shop. Instead of finding Eggsy in one of the fitting rooms, it’s Poppy Adams lying on the front lawn. Dropping to his knees, Merlin notices a shard of metal sticking out from her chest and an ominous dark stain growing on the fabric of her blouse. There’s another wound on her thigh where Ginger finishes tying off with her sleeve.

Poppy stares at him, searching Merlin’s face under the moonlight. “Charlie…” she croaks, then coughs. Blood dribbles from her lips.

“I don’t know where he is,” Merlin says as he inspects the shard. It’s nicked an artery; she doesn’t have long.

“No,” Poppy rasps, shaking her head. “He’s…going…” She tries to sit up.

Merlin eases her to the grass. “You shouldn’t move,” he tells her. It’s more a kindness Poppy gave to Michelle or her husband, even Eggsy.

“Incoming ground reinforcements,” Champagne says in his ear. “En route to the front lawn. Tilde? Kincade?”

Over the sounds of Tilde and Kincade confirming their meeting point, Merlin watches Poppy as she tries to speak. Her lips move to form words that neither he or Ginger can hear over the approaching Kingsman vehicles. “What?” he asks as he leans down.

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Poppy manages to whisper. Hearing his name on her tongue makes Merlin think of a death rattle as she goes limp under his hands.

Ginger moves, pressing two blood-stained fingers against Poppy’s neck. She meets Merlin’s stare and shakes her head—she’s gone. The threat against Eggsy’s life has vanished with her last breath.

Until Merlin realizes it hasn’t—that’s what Poppy was trying to tell him. Charlie was the other figure that got out of the upturned vehicle and ran off into the dark. “Harry,” he shouts into his earpiece. “Have you found Eggsy?”

“No,” Harry replies. “I’m still looking for that other person.”

“Scratch that,” Merlin says. “Find Eggsy. _Now_!”

Two gunshots go off in the direction of the greenhouse.

 

* * *

 

Despite being a little worse for wear, Eggsy and Roxy make it to the greenhouse.

“I suppose it’s too late to make a run for it?” he asks as he pushes the door open.

Roxy chuckles. “I’m game if you are,” she says, going in first. “Watch your step,” she warns.

Inside is an utter disaster; Eggsy’s never seen so many broken planters and tools in his entire life. And honestly, there are more dead plants than actual live ones. “I guess Kincade doesn’t use this place.”

A ceramic container falls off a bench and onto the ground. “I guess not,” Roxy agrees. She peers up at the roof and wrinkles her face at the broken glass. “There goes our hope for it being warmer in here.”

“Probably happened when you blew up the drones. That was fucking aces, by the way!” Eggsy tells her. He cups his hands over his mouth and blows into them. “What other weird gadgets do you have?”

Roxy shrugs as she tests out a table before hopping onto it. “You’ve seen the guns and hand grenades,” she says. “Our field oxfords have a dagger in the toe that contains a neurotoxin and kills within a few seconds. I’ve never gotten to use it.”

Eggsy notices the sadness in her eyes. “You’ll get to,” he assures. “You’ll see.”

“Thank you, but I’m not entirely sure about what will become of me,” Roxy admits. “I’d say this is a royal fuck up if there ever was one.”

“Maybe they’ll make special considerations,” Eggsy suggests, though he’s not certain about that.

Roxy tilts her head. “Kingsman doesn’t make special considerations.”

“Well,” Eggsy says, “they ought to.”

“That’s very kind of you, Eggsy, but I think I ought to prepare for the worst.” Roxy runs her hand over the table’s surface and pushes some dust off of it. She tilts her head again, listening to the night.

In the distance, there’s gunfire and more explosions. Eggsy hopes no one from their group has been injured in the melee. He worries about Merlin the most, even though Eggsy’s certain that he’s fine.

“Did you hear that?” Roxy asks, more quietly than before. Her hand slips into her coat where she’s stashed her gun and pulls it out.

Eggsy groans. “Is it those _fucking_ drones again?”

Roxy holds up her other hand, signaling Eggsy to stop speaking as she hops off the table. She motions him to ready his own weapon as she goes to check on the door. He follows behind her, straining his ears to hear what she has while trying not to trip over any wayward debris on the ground. _Really,_ Eggsy thinks as he steps over what may be a broken rake, _someone ought to clean this place out_.

The door creaks open. Eggsy looks up from the ground to see Roxy peering out a crack she’s made, scanning the surrounding area for signs of the drones. He wishes they were able to take an earpiece with them, but he understands why. If anyone of them were compromised, the Golden Circle could easily find him; going dark seems like the best opinion.

Eggsy just really wants to know if Merlin’s alright.

“Anything?” he whispers.

Roxy motions him to stop speaking and stands on her tiptoes. After a moment, she sighs and shakes her head as she pockets her gun. “I think my nerves are getting the better of me,” she tells him.

“I’d say that’s normal, all things considered,” Eggsy replies, trying to lighten the mood.

She smiles tightly. “You seem rather calm.”

“Nah, I’m not,” Eggsy says. “Shitting bricks, honestly.”

“Are you worried about Merlin?”

He scratches his head. “Is it obvious?”

“A bit,” Roxy says, grinning, as both of them hear the sound of leaves crunching under someone’s boot. “You heard that, right?”

Eggsy turns the safety off on his gun. “Yeah, definitely heard that.”

No sooner than the words leave his mouth, a bullet shatters a glass panel near Roxy’s head. She ducks, avoiding the shards while Eggsy spins around. He doesn’t see much, other than the explosion of white-hot pain searing his vision as someone pistol whips him across the face, and falls into a heap. Roxy cries out and fires at his assailant. They grab him by his hair, yanking his head back until his neck throbs in protest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Charlie says, almost snarling as he presses the hot tip of his gun to Eggsy’s temple. Hearing him makes his blood go cold.

Eggsy opens his eyes, blinking away the blood that pools into the right one and finds Roxy with her own gun pointed at Charlie. _Atta girl,_ he thinks. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” he says.

“Not soon enough. It was the drones that found you.” Charlie tugs on him, making his head hurt more than it already does. “They’re heat seeking or did you forget, Roxanne?”

Roxy sneers at him. “I’d shoot you right now…”

“But you won’t because of this wanker,” Charlie cuts her off. “He has quite the effect on people, doesn’t he?” The gun caresses Eggsy’s face and he flinches, causing Charlie to laugh. “Eggsy _fucking_ Unwin; the good son, the good soldier, a thorn in my side. I should have shot you in the head when I had the chance.”

He snorts, covering up the whisper of his leg moving against the dirty floor. “You should have,” Eggsy agrees, then hooks his ankle with Charlie’s shin and pulls. He feels the heat of a bullet whizzing by his head, burying itself somewhere else, and he doesn’t care where.

Instead of wondering, Eggsy heaves himself at Charlie and punches him in the jaw. His fist wails in protest when he does it again, this time in the bastard’s face. Blood spurts onto his skin, warm and coppery and reminding him of the night his mum died. With a shout, Eggsy attacks Charlie in a fury, wounding him as much as he’s able before Charlie tackles him to the ground. Under him, a broken piece of ceramic pierces through his jeans and cuts into Eggsy’s leg.

His shout of pain gets abruptly cut short by Charlie’s fist to his cheek and for a moment, Eggsy swears his eye is going to explode like one of those stupid drones. Another punch lands in his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs as Charlie begins choking him. Fingers clutch his throat, tightening while Eggsy struggles to breathe, to move, to do _something_ because fuck if he’s _not_ going out like this!

Roxy cries out and throws herself at Charlie, punches him in the back of the head. She does it again and pushes him off of Eggsy. Gasping, Eggsy rolls onto his side to see Charlie’s quick rebounds, launching a merciless counterattack. He grabs Roxy by her hair and slams her face into the ground and presses into broken glass.

He laughs at her screams and does it harder. “Fucking bitch,” Charlie snarls. “I knew we couldn’t trust you, but Poppy swore it! You have no idea what you’re missing out on, dearest. The Golden Circle is going to rule the world, you know!”

Roxy claws at him, digging her fingernails into his hands. “The Golden Circle is finished!”

“It will _never_ be finished, you stupid girl,” Charlie says as he reaches for a shard of dirty glass. He flips Roxy onto her back and leers at her. “This is only the beginning!” Charlie thrusts his arm up, then swings down to stab her.

Rage courses through Eggsy’s veins as rushes Charlie, sending them through the air until they crash into a stack of discarded planters. They slash into both men, slicing through fabric and skin to create a crosshatch of cuts. Eggsy rolls Charlie under him and punches him in the mouth. “That’s for Dean!” he shouts, not caring about the blood on his fist.

There’s a click, causing Eggsy to stop moving. He stares at the barrel of the gun, slowing raising his hands as he gets to his feet.

“You _do_ behave,” Charlie comments. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and spits blood onto the ground. “Too bad you were too late for Roxy over there.” He smiles. “Go on, look. I won’t do anything.”

Hesitant, Eggsy glances over his shoulder to see Roxy on the ground, motionless. It’s too dark for him to tell if she’s playing dead or is truly injured; god, he hopes she’s alright.  “You’re a bastard,” he snarls as he turns back.

“A bastard with a gun, mind,” Charlie taunts, brandishing the blasted thing in Eggsy’s face. “What ever shall you do now, Mr. Unwin?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“No. Not this time,” Charlie says. “I think this pussy has finally run out of lives, don’t you?”

Eggsy grits his teeth. “You won’t get far. Kingsman knows all about you and the Golden Circle—it’s over, Charlie,” he tells him. “It’s over!”

“Then Kingsman will pay,” the other man says as he cocks the hammer. “Starting with _you_!”

A gunshot goes off and for a moment, Eggsy thinks it was Charlie’s until he hears the bastard swearing and more glass breaking.

“Eggsy!” Roxy cries. He turns, watching as she shoves a gun at him.

Eggsy lunges at it, closing the distance while he has a chance to arm himself and whips his body around to find Charlie standing above him.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie goads. “I’m sure your mother will understand.” He pulls the trigger as Eggsy draws in a breath and thinks of his mum.

And Merlin. God, he hopes Merlin’s the one who ends Charlie when Eggsy couldn’t do it himself. That he’s able to move on in some sort of Daniel Craig-era James Bond way.

Then nothing happens.

“What?” Charlie shouts, sounding strangled and furious.

Eggsy exhales and wraps his finger around the trigger. “This for my mum,” he says with trembling lips, aiming the gun for the center of Charlie’s forehead and fires. The shot echoes all around him as Charlie’s corpse falls back, landing on the ground with a thud. Eggsy pushes himself to his feet, stumbling as he goes to check the body. His fingers touch the still-warm skin of Charlie’s neck to find no pulse thumping under it.

He doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief—the moment is too much for him to process and there’s Roxy. Eggsy needs to know that she’s alright. “Rox,” he says, hoarsely, as he turns to her. “Are you…”

The question dies on his tongue as Eggsy rushes to her side. Under her unbuttoned coat, there’s an ominous dark stain growing on her chest. “Oh shit,” he intones. Eggsy pulls Roxy to him and presses down on the wound, trying to stem the blood “Shit. _Shit_!”

“Eggsy,” she whispers. “It’s…”

Eggsy shakes his head, panicked. “You’ve got to tell me what to do, Rox. Please tell me what to do!” Tears sting his eyes and blur his vision while Roxy’s blood soaks his hands. “Please, Rox. _Please_.”

“Nothing,” Roxy tells him, quietly. She looks up at him, smiling serenely like his mum did. Even with blood soaking them both, Roxy remains calm. “I suppose…it’s too late to make a run for it?” Her eyelids droop.

He lets out a sob. Someone calls his name in the distance. “I’m game if you are,” Eggsy replies.

“Always,” Roxy whispers, shivering. She blinks at him, tilting her head with the same grin his mum had on that fateful night. “At least I got it right in the end.”

Eggsy barely manages a nod before he breaks down in oxygen-robbing sobs. He doesn’t remember the exact moment Roxy closes her eyes or draws her last breath or even when she dies. Eggsy holds onto her, cradling her body with the bitter taste of tears and blood in his mouth until the greenhouse door opens. He pulls his gun out, pointing it with a shaking hand.

“Eggsy,” Merlin says. Hearing his voice is an absolute blessing.

Eggsy realizes there are others with him—Kingsman, he reckons—and lowers his weapon. His fingers clutch Roxy’s coat, watching Merlin as he approaches him like he was a scared animal; in a way he is. He follows his lover’s movements as he kneels next to him and checks Roxy’s pulse. “She’s…” Eggsy stammers. He blinks and more tears fall. “I tried…I couldn’t…”

Merlin’s warm hand cradles his cheek, brushing away the wetness with his fingers. “It’s all right,” Merlin tells him. He turns, motioning for someone to come—Harry, as it turns out. “You did what you could.”

“She saved my life,” Eggsy whispers. He strokes Roxy’s hair from her face and wishes he could have done more; she deserved more than this. Roxy, his mum, Dean…all of the people who tried to stop the Golden Circle and were killed—they all deserved more.

Merlin murmurs in his ear, pleading for Eggsy to let a pair of Kingsman agents take Roxy’s body. He tightens his grip on her for a moment, silently giving his thanks and saying to goodbye before she’s gone and put on a stretcher. His eyes follow them until they leave the greenhouse and disappear into the night.

“Come,” Merlin says, holding out his hand to him.

Eggsy looks at it with uncertainty and notices the silence around the estate. It’s over, he thinks as he takes his lover’s hand and stumbles to his feet. His body aches in protest and he’ll have more than a few bruises come tomorrow. “Is it over?” he asks.

“Yes,” Merlin tells him. “It’s over.”

With a sigh, Eggsy goes to him.


	13. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! Thank you to Bre and Leah for helping me with this labor of love and Allison for correcting my French, as well as Heather, Matt, Tresa, and Mo. Also, thank you to everyone who stuck by me during chapter delays and revamps. My apologies to the screenwriters of _Skyfall_ for stealing some of their quotes.

He thinks he could get used to waking up every morning with the salty tang of the Sea of Crete in the air and sunlight glittering off the water. 

Today is no different, though the other half of the bed is empty. Merlin rubs his hand over his face and yawns, idly wondering where Eggsy has decided to run to. It’s a ritual of his—going for a morning jog and coming back with sweat soaking through his clothes and coating his body. Merlin doesn’t mind, of course, since he’s the one who gets to chase the taste with his tongue and undress his boyfriend before they fall onto the mattress. There, he explores Eggsy’s warm, flushed skin while they make love for hours. It lasts until one of their stomachs rumbles with hunger and they get on with the rest of their day.

A life of leisure isn’t the worst thing, it seems. Besides, there are much worse fates than this and Merlin isn’t about to complain.

They’ve been in the Grecian paradise of Santorini for several weeks now, after spending nearly two months in Mykonos. It’s the extended holiday he and Eggsy conjured up during their darkest hours—the one where they relaxed, indulged, and explored—and Merlin can’t help but enjoy himself. Being here has done them both a world of good, especially Eggsy, who seems freer in this environment. He smiles and laughs more, slowly emerging from the past to embrace the future.

Merlin’s glad for it; the weeks before were spending finishing up reports, dealing with traitors to Kingsman, and burying the dead. Roxy’s funeral had been especially bittersweet. For all of her mistakes, Roxy had redeemed herself in the end and died a true Kingsman. Her quick thinking had given Eggsy the upper hand and saved his life at the cost of her own. Merlin suspects it was her way of thanking Michelle for all she had done and tried to do for her. The final bloodstained thread in a tapestry filled with violence, now finished and to be remembered as a cautionary, but an extraordinarily brave tale.

As for Eggsy, he was finally able to lay his parents to rest and settle their estate. Merlin saw the relief and closure it brought his boyfriend; it meant this mess—this terrible, awful mess—was finally over. Eggsy would never have to look over his shoulder or worry about what lurked in the shadows; he could live his life the way his mother intended.

In other words, he is free. They both are.

Merlin finds Eggsy on the patio, watching the scenery from one of the loungers. He has his running clothes on, though it appears he never left judging by the discarded trainers and socks. Merlin chuckles softly and goes to him. “Morning,” he greets.

Eggsy shields his eyes from the sun and glances at him with a bright smile. The greens of his irises stand out more thanks to the tan his skin’s developed; he resembles the lad Merlin remembers from the photographs on Michelle’s desk. “Morning.” He moves his legs, allowing for Merlin to sit with him. Wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist, Eggsy buries his face between his shoulder blades and inhales. “You smell good,” he comments.

“Thank you,” Merlin says as he clasps a hand over Eggsy’s and runs his fingers over his knuckles. “You didn’t go for a run?” he mentions.

“Nah, got a call from Harry on my way out,” he replies.

Merlin turns, raising a brow. He really ought to have a little chat with his friend about the meaning of a vacation. Harry’s been a passive-aggressive cunt about the whole thing, sending emails and inquiring about when they were returning. Not to mention, he nearly had a fit when they decided to extend their holiday with Chester’s blessing; Merlin reckons the old bat may have done it on purpose just to get under Harry’s skin. It’s fine by him as he receives its benefits. “What did the illustrious Harry Hart need this time?” he grouses.

Eggsy chuckles. “He wanted to offer me a job.”

Merlin sighs, hanging his head in annoyance. He spoke to Harry and Chester about this, telling them to hold off on entertaining the idea of submitting Eggsy for candidacy. While he has no doubts that the lad would be an amazing Kingsman agent if he should choose to be, he needs time to heal and regroup, hence their holiday. He’s had the most upheaval, after all. “I specifically said to him,” Merlin begins to rant.

Eggsy’s mouth against his stops him and Merlin groans, tasting his boyfriend on his tongue. He won’t ever tire of this. “I told him I’d think about it,” Eggsy says when they pull apart to breathe. He laughs, leaning to kiss Merlin’s cheek. “Wipe that scowl off your face, babe. We’re on holiday, remember?”

“Yes, yes. How could I forget?” Merlin nuzzles Eggsy’s jaw and peppers it with kisses, seeking out his boyfriend’s lips until he finds them once more. He swallows Eggsy’s laughter and makes him moan with his tongue. If it wasn’t daylight, Merlin would have his way with Eggsy right on the patio. They’ve done it many times before, fucking under the stars while the warm breeze caressing their skin. Merlin takes his time with Eggsy’s body and explores the sweet cavern of his mouth, relearning what he already knows and finding more.  

“Did you really tell him you’d think about it?” Merlin asks a bit later. They’re cuddling on the lounger now, in a heap of tangled limbs. Eggsy’s head rests on his shoulder while the lad’s hand has found its way up Merlin’s shirt to rub his stomach.

Eggsy shrugs, running his nails over Merlin’s skin. “Yeah. I mean, it’s definitely something to consider.”

“But is it what you want?”

“Maybe. I’m not entirely sure yet,” Eggsy answers. He hugs himself closer to Merlin.

Merlin buries his nose in Eggsy’s hair. “You don’t need to be.”

“I know,” he hears his boyfriend say to him. “I am sure of one thing.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Eggsy’s lips brush against his sternum. “Wherever I end up next, I want it to be with you,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”

Merlin knows Eggsy won’t be able to see him, but he smiles anyway. “Always,” he promises, whispering the words for only Eggsy to hear. “Always, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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